Well, I have to go to Oslo for a few days to close out the flat, get the movers in, finalize and finish my life in Norway.
Problem is, I don't want to go.
I had SUCH a hard time leaving, it was SO painful, that when I got to Houston I kind of let it roll off me, put it behind me, just...stopped thinking about it. It's been kind of nice. I am here, in this rather nameless, soulless flat, me and my three suitcases of stuff, and a few books and magazines and stuff I've bought since getting here. I am not burdened by possessions, the need to cook, the need to clean (bi-weekly housekeeping comes with the place) the needs of anyone's but my own, I only need to focus on getting my job going and relearning how to live in the US.
OK, so I AM kind of (at times, very) lonely, and a bit regretful of some things, and missing some things, and thinking about some things. Trying to achieve a 'fresh start' is really hard, and I don't know that it is even possible. A fresh start means leaving behind so much, and pretending that your past is clean and tidy, and sorry, at my age, a messy past is a given and, I think, desireable, so there is no way you can ever go 'fresh' again. Everything I was, or have done, or have become, is part of this new venture. That's why I am doing it, actually, as the me I have become is finally up to this, this clean, new me could only rise out of the old, scared, messy, unsure and un-self confident me. But that doesn't mean I have forgotten or am abandoning the old me, my previous life.
Going back to Oslo means throwing myself into what will be a week of chaos, niggling details, paperwork and instant decisions that might have repercussions later. Going back means things I don't want to face, or think about, endings that lead to beginnings, and final goodbyes that I didn't face in December because I'd be 'back in February'. Going back to Oslo is facing all those things I am avoiding. I am terrible (REALLY TRULY AWFUL) at goodbyes, and I have had far too many of them lately. They suck, I am bad at them, I hate them. I am terrible at moving, I hate details, I hate having to suddenly decide where every single last one of my possessions has to go RIGHT NOW, only to have to decide MUCH LATER where they will actually end up.
I don't want to face the airports, the long flight, the cold, the ice, the packing the essential things I left in Oslo to bring back with me to Houston, leaving Rich yet AGAIN, this time not even leaving him at 'home' but him going to a different place to live that has never included me (just as my flat now has never included him.) Am I abandoning him? Is he abandoning me? Is that even fair to ask? I just know he doesn't know what he has in store for him, yet, when he might come to Houston, what will happen. He's not getting answers from his company. It's extremely annoying.
I dread that last moment in the empty apartment that was my home in Oslo for 3 1/2 years, and, as it turns out, my last ever home in Norway after 10 1/2 years. That last echoing sound of that empty gorgeous apartment, bare of all the items that made it our home, its naked walls once again ready to encompass and reflect the taste, possessions and the lives of other people, as it has time and time again for 120 years. That last clunk of the solid old oak door as it closes upon a life well lived, as the lock clicks and an era ends.