in which it doesn't get any easier.

I realise that I've yet to tell you of my adventures in England (and Wales for a day). I mean to, certainly. I have so much to tell and so many pictures to show you- but it's still hard. To write about the most joyous period in my life since I don't know when, even just to go through the photos, all the while knowing that outside my window it's the wrong country- it's heartbreaking.


I miss England with a savage pain. It makes me cry just writing this entry. I wrote great lengths of rambling that didn't make much sense, but then I deleted it again. I don't know how to say what I feel, which is weird for me because I'm often quite capable of spewing out great monologues on what's going on in my mind. It's overly dramatic to say 'an emptiness' but there is a sense of hollow purpose. I don't feel a long term connection to anything, because there's something inside me that thinks 'not too long now and you'll be back in England.'



Interestingly enough there's another desire pecking away at my mind- I want to get married. I want to have a house and children and a husband, in the countryside somewhere. To bake cakes and make art and generally potter around being domestic. To have a gallery and a shop and sell my art, his art, and vintage craft supplies. Oddly I mostly see this happening in Australia; the visions for it are very Australian in appearance. But I can't see how that fits with my constant yearning for England. How can I have a vision for one life while another one pulls at me so? I'm the chariot- my horses going left and right and I haven't a hold of the reigns at all.


There are nights like tonight I sit here and think I'll never be happy till I am back there. But it's hard to go half way around the world and leave the people you love behind you. They're all big enough to look after themselves, they don't need me around. At least that's what I tell myself, but I think they disagree.

Perhaps I'm just desperate for happiness. I know that sounds so melodramatic and of course I'm not really unhappy here in my life right now. Things are good, I have wonderful friends and few worries, and my living circumstances are quite easy and no shortage of projects to keep me company. But the simple, un-laboured happiness and contentedness I felt in England is something I haven't had in my soul for a really long time. The constant displeasure with my artwork, the moving houses every 6 months, no successful romance to speak of and the lack of any true direction- that's been my lot of late, and I'm thoroughly sick of it.