I know. Who wants to read about me and my poor-me attitude about my travel angst?
(I mean, apart from you, so thank you, and I love you and mmmmwah and have you done something with your hair because it looks great today!)
So me and the beloved are flying back home tomorrow for a week. It'll be the first time we've been home in just under a year. It seems like I should be more homesick when I write it all out like that. And to be honest, I really really am. I just don't tell myself so. You know?
Then the page turns and it's already TOMORROW that we're flying [to my] home of 350 years and I'm stuck with this pitterpattery heart, this tension just behind my sternum, this fluffy "i want to cry" sensation in my spine, and this blasted ringing in my ears which can't possibly be related to anything but that stupid cold I just got over.
Angst. I haz it. It's what I do, y'all. I overthink things and work myself into this little walnut of angst and then whatever it is I'm worked up about comes and goes and afterwards I'm like "oh that was neat!" and then something big and fun comes up again and it's back to the beginning.
Maybe it's not angst. Maybe it's just unfettered excitement and... dare I say it? "Happy"
It's an alarming kind of happy though. It's the kind of happy that I'm not used to. It's the kind of happy that says "oh things could go really great" and then silently narrows it's eyes and says to itself "how much you wanna' bet she f-'s this up".
I ask myself: What if nobody comes to see me at the book things?
I tell msyelf: what do I care? I'll be home, on vacation at home, in great weather in a peaceful area with lots of great friends at hand and lots of super fun family time ahead.
I ask myself: What if EVERYONE comes and you run out of books and feel like an unprepared moron?
I tell myself: what's new? I'm always f-ing something up (occupational hazard of being a fluffly little clumsy idiot, I'm afraid) and by now I'm so good at it that I have JUST enough grace to march boldly forward anyway. IF we run out, I'll have order forms available. IF we don't, that's fine too.
I ask myself: What if the house is a broken down disaster and you have to do... you know...
I tell myself: shut up you. You're just fishing for panic now. You're smarter than that.
And I march boldly forward anyway. I don't buy a word of it, of course, but all the trained professionals say that it takes ages to buy that kind of "I believe in you" crap when you tell it to yourself so I'm going to keep faking it until I get some real traction on it again.
I'm not so much scared of the flight. I'm a little tweaked about getting SICK on the flight, but that passes quickly enough. I'm a little concerned about regressing, or maybe worse than that I think I'm worried that the whole magical little bubble that used to be home is going to be some ill-fitting bathrobe from the back of the closet that no longer covers, nor warms anything for which it was initially designed. You know the one, the avocado green one with the giant terrycloth turtle on the back? *shudder*
It'll be fine, of course. And academically I know that. NO really I do. Once I get there, all shall be fine and it will all work out and I will have oh so many wonderful tales to tell. THIS guy, you see did THIS. And oh THAT one, you should have seen THAT one. It's why you and I gather here. Because things work out. And I get to tell you that they did. And collectively we can go "ahh" and feel largely better about the world for a short time.
So in the end, there will be lots of good stuff to read here. Likely starting sometime Tuesday night. Or Wednesday morning. Until then though, if you listen carefully, you can hear my stomach lining carefully churning away into oblivion and my molars being ground into powder.
It's what I do, after all.