I think I'm finally regaining a bit of my late-night self. Getting back to more of a normal (for me, at least) sleep shedule at last. The slight down-side to this is that I have to get up every morning at 6:20 to take my mother to work. But then that leaves me the perfect excuse for an afternoon nap.

I'm really beginning to miss my meals of Egyptian rice and cucumber-and-tomato salad. So I decided to indulge in some late-night grocery shopping. Gd bless 24-hour grocery stores. That's something I really do love about the U.S.

I've had a surprisingly social past week. Surprising, because other than my immediate family the only person here whom I really know is Kristin. But a friend from college was in town last week to visit his parents, and beginning with my birthday last Tuesday I seemed to acquire quite the social life. It was nice. Gave me some interaction outside the house (besides physical therapy) to look forward to.

I miss speaking Arabic. I have the name of a woman who works with an ESL program in the area, and rumour is that my Arabic skills could be put to use. Now that I've worked out medical arrangements and started a fairly regular therapy schedule, I'm hoping to find out more about helping with that.

People here are very interested in where I've been living for the past many months. Interested on their terms, that is. They ask a lot of questions, most of which seem not quite relevant to my life there, thus making them very difficult to answer.
I try not to get into political discussions.

Things here are familiar, but the familiarity seems to be a bit out of focus. I haven't yet had any major heart problems over seeing people wear shorts in public-- in fact, I've worn them myself once or twice already. Nor has seeing the large houses and lawns and cars and the general extravagance of this enclave of self-satisfied Suburbia caused me any more stress than previously. I think I'm compartmentalizing all that. It simply is different. Doesn't even go under the same heading as where I lived for the past eight months. Still, there is a part of me that wonders at all these things. But it is a detached wonder.
A lot of things seem detached these days.

Kristin came over last night to help me rearrange some books. I walked into my room last Wednesday afternoon and was floored by the number of books on the shelves. I'd forgotten. My mother, bless her, unpacked them all for me sometime last fall. They're in a bit of a disarray (somehow Pascal's Pensees ended up in the middle of the linguistics section; I found Norman Mailer's The Gospel According to the Son rubbing shoulders with various Bibles and holy books-- there's definite humour in that), but it's good just to see them all. Like greeting old friends.

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Written Tuesday, 6 May 2003:
Eight months ago this evening I arrived in this country. Tonight I leave it.
There is an irony in the precision of that timing that makes me smile. And as a small bonus-- one month ago today, seven months after I came here, was my surgery.

Goodbyes have been said. Bags packed. Finances settled (insha-allah). And in slightly less than 24 hours I should be in Houston.

I don't know that there's anything else to say at this point.
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And now I am actually here. In Houston. At least I think I'm here. That doesn't seem quite possible. I think I'm still reeling. It could take me quite some time to sort through this past month. So much has happened and changed.

A couple good points of being here: I have a stereo. No more Metallica eeked out through headphones. And the toilet paper is very soft.