Deprivation, one thinks whilst deprived, is terrible. Not to have x, or to have y when you want z, is irritating, grating, and sometimes enraging. But you know what? I have a new appreciation and gratitude for deprivation.
As I've mentioned, all the time that I've been home this time I've had to depend on my parents to drive me places. I would sit in the passenger seat, or on the couch while I waited for my mother to get ready, grinding my teeth in frustration. Then, yesterday, my driver's license arrived. I asked for the car key and registration, got in the car...and took what I believe to be the sweetest and most viscerally enjoyable drive of my life - even more wonderful than the first time I drove my own car. Oh, the bliss of driving at my own speed, in the non-turn lane! And with the cd player turned up! It was exquisite, and I never would have had the keen poignancy of that delight had I not been deprived of it, and so fully deprived of it, before.
The same is true of my hair. When I stood up out of the chair yesterday, as at the times I've stood up out of the chair after having it blown dry straight, I couldn't believe how wonderful my hair looked. So smooth! So sleek! And my face had such nice bones! And was so noticeable! If I hadn't had my giant bush of hair for contrast before that, I never would have had such an experience, never would have had such exquisite pleasure in this, after all, fairly simple thing.
And now I am going back to WhereIlive. As you know if you've read previous posts, it doesn't take a journey away from WhereIlive to make me know how comfortable I am in England. But my time here has made that sense of comfort more vivid to me than it would be if I had not come here. Not that being here is an experience of deprivation in any way, except deprivation of being "home." But that what you might call passive deprivation is enough for me. I never thought to feel kinship with William Wordsworth, but packing my suitcase this night before I leave, I know exactly what he meant.