I am on my way to Muenster, Germany for a conference. Clara likes to refer to my destination as "monster." It feels a bit like I am travelling to a monster, or through a monster.
Here, if I name it most specifically, is my monster:
What if my children don't need me? If I am not there, if I am not in their lives every second making myself indispensible, if I am not the one they go to with nightmares in the night, do they still need me?
(And what if, oh you rotten stinking internet for having planted this terrible seed in my brain, it would be better for them if I died than if I divorced their father? What then? Suicidal ideations, anyone? Lengthy conversations with self in mirror about cost/value of self's existence ensue.)
Muensterous and self-indulgent musings from the floor of BWI's international departures terminal.
Muenster: the hotel looks like it will be very modern and flashy (I love that). And my mother comes from Germany but has never told me anything about it, so I am curious to be there as a grown up with my own eyes to see the world.
And I think perhaps I am doing well in my career and am creating a research niche for myself, perhaps, with the whole third culture literature thing. So, there's that.