I listened to Simon and Garfunkel my first night over here. Homeward Bound. For the life of me I don't know why. I was anything but homeward bound. Words like home and family had become particularly painful for me.
Still I felt compelled to play it as I lay in bed freezing under the air conditioner reading a letter marked: Don't open till Africa. Now the countdown has begun and in 67 days I will be homeward bound. I've already decided I won't be taking the direct route. I have some idea of where I'd like to go for a bit. Some place by the sea. As usual I don't really have a clue- aimless. Of course the big question remains: when my aimless wandering is done where am I to go when I'm bound for home?
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