I recall (dimly, I must admit) the end of Anita Brookner's Hotel du Lac where the protagonist writes out a telegram to send which says "Coming home," then she changes her mind, crosses it out and writes "Returning."
I have returned to Houston, and it is quite jarring after my month of solitude. It is good to be with my sweetie and my kitties (and all my stuff -- I've barely had time to play my new harp!), but the jangling irritations of this ugly city are no more welcoming than they were four weeks ago. We had errands to run that took us out on the west side where the endless construction complicates the always horrendous traffic and I could feel my warm fuzzy feelings evaporate.
Well, we are off to England on Wednesday, so there won't really be a chance to adjust. When we return from that trip, I will have to make some changes to my life to preserve the new habits I have developed in Eureka Springs. At least it won't be difficult to keep up the walking in London. Best of all, Gene and I will be together running down the streets of London having adventures. Hey, for us picking through all the used book stores on Charing Cross Road is an adventure!