The super team strikes again. While pleased to be leaving Mackenzie earlier than projected (exactly on time by our 10 day shift standards) I was bummed that meant our shift wouldn't reset with some weekends off.
Lack of weekends off with friends gifted the coveted Saturday and Sunday off accompanied by raised eyebrow decisions, frustratingly long hours, swarms of mozzies invading our trailer and more-than-expected time away from Chetwynd is souring my summer and raising urgent personal questions about future summer employment plans. I don't live here in the home owning sense yet I'm constantly homesick for it.
It's a classic case of wanting what I don't have. I love not having a fixed address that I pay for in any real or imagined sense, having post sent to a work address or the box of wherever I happen to be resting my head lately. The freedom to move around at my leisure/where my wallet demands I go to fill it coupled with the desire to (temporarily) settle.
Fellow wanderer Jen maintains the home is where her feet are. I'm tempted to agree. Out in the bush, let's go home means let's go back to our trailers in the moz breeding depression. When hitching up those trailers, home is Jaana's house in Chetwynd. Returning from an international foray, home is Calgary where I tend to fly back to and have smiling family that picks me up on delayed flights from the airport. Home has been Edmonton, Red Deer, Meekatharra, Bimini, a beach hut in half a dozen countries. I continue to wrestle with this reoccurring theme of who, what and, less importantly, where home is.
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