I don’t think anyone who has read my posts up to this point is ignorant of the idea that Prague was a hesitation – that Prague was a temporary answer to a question that has plagued me since the adolescent years: what am I going to do with myself in this world? And that Prague could only be a temporary answer was not something that I missed realizing; I knew all along that this wouldn’t be my real life – for indeed, I knew it was only something I could do while I was young. Because as much as I love travel, and as much as I hope to continue to take trips for the rest of my life, living abroad isn’t necessarily something that would last forever for me.
The ‘plan’ as of late has been for me to apply for my Visa, stay in Prague (kinda illegally) for the summer, and reevaluate the situation in September, when my Visa would be issued. Depending on the length of stay provided on my Visa, and the job situation, I would either leave then or stay until the maximum time allotted, which would be until March. March would mark a full year, at which point I would probably go home. I didn’t see myself staying past March, definitely. I didn’t see myself staying past September, either.
As much as I love Prague, the idea of missing the third summer in a row with my family really started to bother me. And as much as I hate Oklahoma in the summer (100 degrees, 100% humidity), I wanted to see my nephews play t-ball. I wanted to eat cherries by the pool with my sister. I wanted to see summer blockbusters (which I also haven’t gotten to do the last two years because of Spain and then the secluded mountains of Idaho). Maybe these reasons don’t sound like enough, but I certainly think they are. I’m not one to get homesick easily, I don’t think, but then again, maybe I am. There’s only so much you can handle missing. And if everyone understood how awesome my family was, they wouldn’t blame me for cutting this ‘experience’ short.
It’s not as if the feeling of homesickness swept into my life one dreary and cold June morning and outweighed all other feelings or options. I considered my plans seriously. I questioned myself. I locked myself in my room for an entire day brooding (it was raining… a little). But when it came down to it, it just wasn’t going to work for one reason: money. I don’t have any more of it. After paying rent for this month, I am dangerously low. Not dangerously low for someone who’s working 20 hours a week – dangerously low for someone who’s working 6. Yes, I could work more hours, but I just don’t want to. I don’t want to be a teacher. I like my job right now – my one lesson on Tuesday and Thursday and my mornings on Friday. But that’s exactly it. If there were any more hours with these 6-year-olds, I might start pulling my hair out. I don’t know how people do it.
I’m not excited to start the job search over again. Doing that really sucks. But I am excited to have a regular job, although it would be really nice if it was something I enjoyed. I don’t even know where to start. I’m really excited to have an apartment with running water in the kitchen and a shower curtain in the bathroom. And I want my books to be in one bookcase and not in boxes for the first time in my life.
My sister says I start these posts with a mature topic, that I’m really sentimental and serious (or whatever it was you said), and then by the end, I’m immature, or joking, or whatever. John says I’m in competition with another one of our TEFL classmates for the worst blog written.
Once again, ladies and gentlemen, a glorious conclusion.