The penny dropped

it's spinning ricochet as it hit the ground, the culmination of the last few months of slowly watching it fall. Why am I here? Unhappily, not an existential paradigm, but rather a more mundane, what the fuck am I doing in this city? I did wonder if it was time to go back. Now I know it is. Not in a Superman/ Krypton sense, although there is a certain festering desire to do superhero stuff and save Bombay from those who run it (albeit in a faaar cooler costume), but more in a sense of living in a city I love. Which makes me wonder, New York 1986, "It's just like Bombay, only colder and BIGGER". 22 years and 63 cities later, could I do this in New York? At least they'd have proper showers there.
The only thing that's a given now, is that procrastination shall ensue with immediate effect. What will I go back and do? While this city's not one I call home, there is much to be said about the work, life balance that it affords you. If the rat race is not where I'm going, then what precisely, is it that I will be considering as a response in that picturesque section of all immigration forms entitled 'occupation'? If this were Blogs Anonymous, I suppose this would be the first step towards recovery. It's out there, and the sheer embarrassment of having to fend of 'but you said...' moments seems to motivate most of what we do with our lives. Don't think I've vacuumed in a couple of weeks. Hell, if I'm going home, I might as well get a maid....
The thought of the potential packing paralyses me and I start to think. If we all know life is a cliché, why does it still surprise us when someone points it out to us? It is because in truth, we're all mired in a bourgeois desire not to be a cliché? I think I like being a cliché. It has a certain cachet. But then again, I do have a marked preference for my dulcet accent over any other....