So I'm here. What to say.
This summer has been a whirlwind, and when I look back on it, I can barely remember it. Oh, I can rattle off a list of events: a few weeks at my parents' home, a few scattered days at my own, a white-picket-fence wedding that wasn't mine and then a lovely affair that was. A long, clean stretch of relaxation that was the honeymoon in Mexico. Two days of insanity while Matt prepared to leave one last time. And now, me sitting in an upturned apartment that is covered with the results of only coming back to wash clothes, repack, and leave again. So I know what happened. But my memory is such a blur; I can barely remember what I was doing a month ago, where I was or why. It's disorienting. And although it seems like right now I should just be hanging out, I can't relax because I have school coming up in a month, not to mention there's just a lot of shit that needs doing. Matt's not here, so I get to clean the apartment by myself. The bedrooms need to be reorganised, I have to get on Matt's insurance, get my paperwork in order for school, blah blah blah.
Speaking of which, school starts in precisely four weeks, and I'm starting to get nervous. I can barely talk about it, actually. I've rewritten this paragraph three times because I just start babbling, and really, what am I going to say that is unexpected? That this is huge? Or course it is. That I'm totally dedicated to this? I wouldn't have gone through all the shit of the past year if I weren't taking this seriously, and I think that's true for everyone in my position. I think I just can't stand the tension. I'm hanging here in anticipation and all I can really do is stare at this looming life change as it inches closer. The wedding wasn't like this at all; the closer I got the more stuff I had to do, and then I got mad sick so the one day that would have been filled with reflection was instead filled with sleep and vomiting. All I had to do was put my head down and get through it, and then process slowly in isolation afterwards. It was perfect for me, really (you know, minus the throwing up horribly - green, mind you, because of the Excedrin I'd tried to take - in a plastic bag on my way to a dessert - dessert! what was I thinking? - boutique full of estrogen way-too-early on a Saturday morning to celebrate happiness. That I would have changed). With this, though, all I can do is wait and wind myself tighter.
At least I get to see Incubus in Chicago next week. It's part birthday present for myself, part way to get out of my stupid empty apartment, part way to pass the time until things get
I've been thinking a lot about the past and the future, trite as that sounds. Hey, I'm at a big turning point in my short life; cut me some slack. Anyway. I had a conversation about a year ago with a recovering coke addict who'd snorted his thriving business out of existence a while ago; now, he's Christian and starting over, and things are really going well for him. He said something that helps to give me perspective. "This? This is easy. Being at rock bottom was hard." And he's so right. Being young and working hard, looking up and ahead and seeing light? What can possibly compare to that? And I don't mind that I get to skip the worst part of the recession by being in school. Things are good. I'll take the tension, thanks.
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