i've been back for 11 days, and am still in the throes of jetlag. there hasn't been a night that i've slept through since i have returned, there hasn't been an evening, on which i haven't been dead tired and/or falling asleep in front of the telly by 9pm.

i don't think it has been this bad before. neither the jetlag, nor how much it quite simply hurts to be away from evan now.

i'm just not going to accept being back here. the more i am sure about where i want to be, where i want to live, the less i see the necessity to finish things up round here. bad, i know. not exactly a great motivator to finish uni.

it was just too good. everything was too good.

summer was great. the new house is great. the new town is great. his job & new colleagues seem great.
christmas was different from what it's like here: there was cricket on the beach, a bbq with roos nearby, lots of family around, and terrible carols on the telly. merimbula was great, the atmo in the family unfortunately wasn't. - but most of that was sorted out afterwards.

overall, it was -despite lots of things that needed to be done- quite loungey: we just hung out, worked out (miraculously overcoming my competetiveness in the process), road tripped to warrnambool and back along the great ocean road, body-boarded every morning in merimbula, made love and deflowered almost every room in the new house, packed his stuff & moved to the new place, cooked meals, watched the cricket while drinking beers, quite simply enjoyed ourselves, spending time with each other.

and i miss him, miss what we had and what we will have, terribly.

sure. most of it was -yet again- a holiday, not real day-to-day living, but still. it was nice to simply have time. it was nice to be there the first week he worked, to be all housewifey, to cook and prepare his place and make it home and be there when he came home after work.
i felt so good, so at home in the house that it was unbearable to be there alone after i had to walk him to the hospital the day i left, before his terrible 14 hour shift started. walking back into the empty house, alone, being in his place knowing i wasn't going to see him for a few months, was terrible.

a few nights after i came back, i dreamt very vividly about evan and me talking on the phone.
in my dream, we agreed how terrible it had been that i had to leave without him being able to say goodbye to me at the airport, and that we had to make up for it.
somehow, we assumed that i was in melbourne, and we discussed what time i should come down the next day, what time he would finish work, what i would cook. - all the while thinking i was just a one hour train ride away. that whole dreamed conversation left me feeling very fuzzy and warm and protected and happy. - until, three quaters through the dream, we both simultaneously realised that i wasn't in melbourne, not just an hour away, but a day away, in europe again, unable to see him any time soon, unable to make it to his place in the time frame we had discussed.
a devastating feeling. so devastating, i woke up sobbing.

and now i am back here, slowly getting used to being away from him again.
not that that is something i want to get used to.