Twenty-Five Days

Oh dear God, I have twenty-five days before I leave the country. Twenty-five days to get my head wrapped around the fact that I will be living overseas for six months. On my own. Overseas. Did I mention that I'll be on my own?

Oh, dear God.

I'm watching the Chronicles of Narnia and lusting after the beautiful landscape and the wonderful people of New Zealand. Whatever niggling urge had me clicking on the link, back in March, that said 'University of Otago, New Zealand' is a blessed urge.

In twenty-five days (and some number of hours) I will be flying out from Charlotte across the country - on my own - and then flying over the Pacific - on my own. No safety net, no backups, no one there to calm me down when I can't remember my gate and flip out. (OK, so my parents will be standing by the phone, or in my mother's case, hovering, but still. I have the on the ground illusion of independence.)

Do you have any idea how phenomenal and terrifying this is? I'm a girl who went to school ten minutes from my parents' house; who has flown by herself ONCE, and that only a year and a bit ago. I have no doubts (I cannot doubt) that I'll be fine once I get going. It's just that waiting and counting down the days might kill me first.

I know that once I'm there I'll be homesick and tired and lonely (especially after my boyfriend leaves and I have to go to school in a new country, alone). I fully expect this experience to drive my personal growth through the roof. I can't wait to hike, swim, run, fly, dance, laugh, cry, sneeze, and hopefully not freeze on another continent. ANOTHER CONTINENT. I hyperventilate just thinking about it.

Plane tickets around the world are not cheap, people. I can't screw this up. My safety net takes a minimum of seventy two hours to reach me, not counting delays and domestic flight times. Obviously, I have my darling love and his family, but should I lose a limb shark tubing, or fall off a cliff or get concussed and lose my memory, I'll want my family with me. Walking your fingers from the East Coast of the United States to the little green islands of New Zealand takes some time. Flying takes more time.

I guess that's why my study abroad contract has that little clause stipulating 'repatriation of remains.' Yucky, but necessary.

Whatever. I will be bold, I will be daring. I will rock this six month adventure and come back wanting to go again, and again, and again.

And the best part of it all?
I can go. Again and again and again.

Because I can do everything I want to, damn it. (Pardon my French.)
WolfGrrl

Waiting

I am not usually an impatient person. But sitting in a waiting room - for anything, whether it's something I want to happen or something I dread - brings out my worst tendencies. I am a person who doesn't like to be kept in suspense. For any reason, good or bad.

Right now I'm parked in a very sketchy room somewhere on campus, trying to keep myself entertained. Thus - blog. Let me rant about how much I dislike sitting in a chair too tall for me, so that my feet dangle (even in heels) and fall asleep, instead of focusing on how many butterflies are crawling down my throat into my stomach. Ugh.

I am doing something for a friend. Doing the best that I can, and I hope that counts for something, karma-wise. I know I haven't brought a seraphic attitude to the proceedings today, but I am aggravated. I feel as though several individuals involved took advantage of me and left me reeling from too little (or completely wrong) information. I don't mind offering my help, but I prefer to do so on my terms, and most definitely not under any kind of compulsion. I barely know these people. I owe them basic decency and cooperation, but they have, in some instances, asked far beyond the bounds of acquaintanceship. (Gripe, gripe, gripe.)

Maybe I'll delete this post once I reach the end. Who knows? I can feel my headache coming back, which makes me annoyed with myself. WolfGrrl, remember your maturity. Breathe. Just breathe. I am thinking of something else, something pleasant. White shores, blue skies. Cool breezes. Sunbeams. Shoes. Dogs and cats. Hell, I'll settle for thinking about food, although my stomach is complaining and upset.

Life often involves waiting, and if decisions present themselves at the moment of their choosing, not mine, I can't expect waiting to be any different. I need to learn to wait, not just when I want to, but when I need to. I can tell the same story four hundred, five hundred times to the same engaged little girl. I can read "Give a Mouse a Cookie" thirty-four times in one afternoon. I can climb stairs over and over; I can wash dishes over and over. I can wait. I have been waiting my whole life.

How can you be impatient and patient at once? What is the qualifier of patience? Some days I can stand in line for hours; other days, I can barely tolerate a minute.

Hopefully this post is not too intolerable. Pardon my rant - I am cranky and trying to suppress it. That never seems to go well, but I'm not feeling big enough at the moment to let go of my petty grievances. If I did, I'd have to confront how scared I am.

WolfGrrl

Truth

From burdge-bug's (Brigid's) tumblr. Gotta love that girl; she always lifts my spirits!