The Beginning Of The End? The End Of The Beginning? I'm Back, Confused, And...Apparently Being Self-Absorbed Through A Rather Disgusting Display Of Confusing Self-Analysis

So basically I've been putting off this "Returned-To-The-US" post because...because, well, it means that the experience is really and truly over, and life is back to normal.

Except that life can't ever go "back to normal," because there is no normal anymore; things have changed, and falling back into a life that doesn't really feel like yours anymore isn't easy. 

Having been home three weeks (three weeks! Practically half my time in Morocco, but being here still feels like some weird dream...), things are getting easier, and closer to a normal, even if there are moments when I miss my Moroccan life like crazy.

I suppose that this is what happens when you change. I'm still me, of course, but in a way, I'm not. I'm a different me than the one that left, even if it's difficult to see. Maybe my habits are still the same   well, except the fact that I now turn on the hall light when I'm trying to turn on the light in my room (it's a long story, especially if I babble about the methods of habit-forming)   maybe the way I talk is still the same, maybe everything on the exterior, everything that every single one of you encounter, is still the same. But that's just the exterior, and hasn't the adage never judge a book by its cover been burned into our brains since infancy? There's plenty different, some of which I've uncovered, and some of which I'm still playing with, trying to figure out what it is. 

Sometimes I still feel more me than ever. But then again, of course I do, because I am still me; and even though I've changed, I'm present in this reality where this is me. My reality has moved with the change. (That's why I've developed a disdain for the "you're not acting like yourself" line that you hear in movie arguments. They're acting exactly like themselves, because they are the selves acting, and in that moment, in their particular reality, they are being who they are. Perhaps the former realities that the accusing characters are drawing from do not exhibit a particular behavior, but in that moment, they are being who they are, and now I really need to stop talking about realities, because it's confusing me, and if it's confusing me, lord knows what it must be doing to you, since You, dear reader, do not have access to my brain to pick apart the knots I've tied, and collect the strays, ends, and tangents that I've missed. Unless you are in a reality where that is capable, for which I applaud you heartily. Yes, I know that there was a gigantic run-on. Welcome to my thoughts. But really, are thoughts ever that orderly? I don't know about you, but my thoughts take flying leaps from one another, and generally don't pause or break in between subjects, ideas, etc. Welcome now to the shaky world of thought and conjecture and often-accompanying-frustration that is TOK.) 

I don't even remember where I was. Oh...I suppose I was going to provide a counter to the first sentence of the above paragraph. That's what the sometimes was for. Anyways, sometimes I can't figure out who I am. (To be fair, I read that this is a problem that a lot of teenagers have. Maybe I'm just going through my angsty teenage phase. I wouldn't put it past me.)  

I seem to have lost whatever degree of eloquence I once had, and I can't seem to find it again (even after thinking about this post for the past two weeks). Such is life, I suppose. I think I'll just shut up now, because, contrary to popular belief, writing about the metaphorical, elusive "it" is not helping. 

Maybe this is the last post. Maybe it isn't. It probably isn't (and I hope that to be the case), because I'll probably get bored at some point, and turn that bored energy into creative energy (and thus, a post or three). Maybe my life will provide me with another opportunity in which you must be/want to be updated. The future is somewhat unclear. 

I guess, then, to use my own words, from my very first post when I was learning to blog: Stay tuned (or don't). 

A Very Weird Last Day

I can't believe this is my last post in Morocco. The time has flown by, and I can't accurately express in words the levels and kinds of emotions that are tumbling around right now. "Sad" is such a disgustingly simplified word that I don't know that it really means anything. I'll just leave it at that.

As the title indicates, today was a rather odd day. I woke up to a phone call, and a "Trusty" Travel Clock that said 2:17. It was not, in fact, 2:17; my clock was off by over 4 hours. Which is weird, because when I set it last night, IT HAD THE CORRECT TIME. I suspect the fey-folk were involved. Them, or low batteries. Tomorrow (which, by the time this is published will be today here...but still yesterday there, which is today   oh, time-zones!), I'm just using my phone's alarm, because that one has never failed me, nor has it ever randomly skipped hours in the day without cause or warning.

My day was further wack-ified by an intense, sudden dislike for people, as I scrambled (or rather, moved slower than the continental drift) through the souk, trying to wrap up the very last of the gift shopping for both sets of family. I have never been as intensely aware of my dislike for people who don't walk at a real pace. I also suspect that all my karma levels have been severely wrecked from all of the mental swearing that I was doing.

I returned to my house about five minutes after the REAL 2:00, only to be immediately summoned to leave again. I'm still not sure what we were attending (I think it was at a school, because there were a lot of dressed up little kids) but I think you'll all get a sufficient mental picture by the following description: mosaic floors, clowns, and Oppa Gangnam Style. It was really rather bizarre.

From there, I went to not-my-house. I was perplexed, because I thought the woman in question was going to help me shop for Mama after iftar, but I guess she made up some excuse involving her host-son, who also happens to be a fellow NSLI kid.

I got back at the crack of 5:30, which was exactly when I needed to be back.(For those of you who question why this is so impressive and worth mentioning: You have never operated on Moroccan time. This is like some sort of miracle.) And was again summoned to leave the house (although it was expected), this time for the Hamman. I'd been wanting to go basically the entire time, but between weekend trips, school, Ramadan, and a particularly nasty sunburn, it never worked. Let me tell you: life changing experience. It was fantastic. You would never believe the amount of dead skin that you have on your body, just waiting to be sluffed off.

We ate iftar at not-my-house, which was a bit sad, but in a funny way it was kind of fitting, because it was the same place we ate the first iftar of Ramadan at, and just as I had been the first day, today I was fasting.

Aside from that, it was a little time with Mama and lots of time packing, and now I'm writing this and listening to some sort of traditional music (very beautiful) that is playing in the medina. Not sure if it's live or not. (Edit 1:07 AM: It's still going on, and I believe that it is live.) But it seems like a lovely sort of send-off.