As I write this, I sit in our new living room. There are boxes everywhere, and the contents of other boxes are strewn about the floor. When Bilbo returns home, he finds his stuff in disarray which is more or less how we found our stuff. Somehow our things ended up in at least 6 different places, some of them mice-infested, so it's taken some time to get things in order (and clean). 

As of this writing, I have no job yet. Employers don't seem to care much about two years spent abroad. Maria has some things lined up, but nothing full-time. Within hours of turning on our American phone lines, Maria began getting persistent calls from debt collectors, something about student loans in default. It turns out we owe about another $12,000 than originally known. Our first day back was an unsuccesful trip to the Department of Motor Vehicles. All in all, I'm reminded that sometimes wishing to be home is a lot more romantic than actually being home. 

But despite the setbacks, our apartment has a balcony next to what is now a gorgeous autumn red tree. We spent last night around a fire with four of my oldest high school friends. Within walking distance of our apartment is a dollar theater, Graeter's ice cream, Half Price books, groceries, and several delicious-looking Asian restaurants. I can watch Ohio State football games at the appropriate times, with other Ohio State fans. Our kitchen has a dishwasher, the first of our five year marriage. Despite the dumb things that happen when you return to your country after two years, I couldn't be happier to be back home.

And yet, there's a part of me that knows this will never be the home I wished for, for better and worse. While you're gone, you kind of just imagine everyone you know and love on pause until you get back. Obviously this is not what happens. People get married, have babies, and start careers, none of which were shared experiences. This home of mine has changed too. In my time spent abroad, I didn't see anything half as startling as a confederate flag waving on State Route 161 on my way to see my grandma, although I appreciated the irony of waving a confederate flag in UNION county. I feel like my home has been invaded by thickheadedness and divisiveness, especially acute with an upcoming election.

But I mustn't focus on the negative changes. I find myself all at once appreciative and angry about my country, the likely symptoms of experiencing other parts of the world and how they are run. The reverse culture shock hasn't quite set in yet, save for a few remote instances. In the movie Return of the King, the hobbits return to their favorite pub where a local farmer is showing off his prize pumpkin. They are happy to see people keeping on as they always have but find it hard to care after all the things they've seen. I think it's the movie's way of showing the reverse culture shock the hobbits are going through, and I found it funny that Maria and I went to the Circleville Pumpkin Festival and thought that was the biggest dose of culture shock yet. Welcome to the REAL Ohio.

That's right. I'm in Ohio. FINALLY. After all this time.  All I can really do at this point is sit down, enjoy it, and say 'well, I'm back."