Holy Shit…it’s really happening
Goddamnit. I just wrote like a 3 page post and then accidentally erased it. Grr. So what I was going to say was…
On Thursday night, just as I was about to creep off into dream land, I had a bit of a panic attack. When I came home from Haverford, I could still measure my time at home in weeks, but a new unit of time was in order then. Thursday was just five short days away from Tuesday, my date of departure. There were (read: are) so many things still undone, and suddenly it felt as though I should be doing all of them right now. Of course, that was pre-doctors visits, pre-shopping, pre-marathon car work session.
I’m still a little worried about the time crunch, now that my units have shrunk to hours instead of days, but I feel a little more together now than I did that night. Getting things done which seem distasteful is one of my major failings (see: summer assigned reading, packing), and one of these days it’s going to get me into trouble, meaning more trouble than I’ve already gotten into. I know that there are corps members who are going to be better prepared for this whirlwind introduction to teaching, for the move, and for life on their own, but I’d like to think that I’m not going to be the worst prepared. I mean there have got to be some other flaky ones out there that slipped throught the interview process like I did. I swear, it makes me endearing. Shut up, it does.
The past few days I have just been so scatterbrained, I mean more than usual. There doesn’t seem to be any way of alleviating my affliction, other than to get up and go, get out there and start my life. Yikes, start my new life. I’m going out on my own, moving out of the house for real. Tonight, before dinner my mom mentioned in a roundabout way that they were going to miss having me around the house. I thought to myself “shit, I really am moving out.” Way to go, Thea, brilliant recognition of the completely obvious. Seriously, though, this is different than the past four times I’ve “moved out” up North. I’m headed South this time, uncharted territory for an only grudgingly Southern girl.
At least the van seems ready for the trip. Took out the back seat today, and after I finished the flames on the roof, I started packing. Van, by the way, is hot. It is very difficult to describe properly how a freshly chromed bumper makes me feel, even if it is faux chrome. Hot. Also hot is my new suit: white with pinstripes, helloooo Miami. Not quite so hot is all the shit I’ve still got left to do, the rapidly diminishing space in the back of the car, and Rachael’s tales of her roommate (working in finance, duh, were else would Harvard grads go?), already set up in her South Beach swanky apartment. Hey, we can’t all be Armenian corporate royalty, can we? No, we can’t.
Leaving the house with furniture that I’ve had my entire life feels like I’m stealing from my parents. I have an old wooden chest which I believe used to be red, as part of my non-gender-specific first decorating scheme, a product of egalitarian hippie parents: Red Yellow, Blue, Green. No pink to be found…maybe that’s why I’m so weird. Anyway, theh trunk went pastel, like so many things did, when I was allowed to redecorate in the late 1980’s. It might have been magenta in middle school, and the color which currently graces its outer facade is a lovely warm purple which matches some of my current walls. The box used to be my stash of old art supplies, but tonight I kicked out the half-used sketch books and watercolors so that more practical things like clothes and shoes could come to Miami with me. If you open the lid, you can see drips from every single repainting, and there’s one or two sides that are still the original wood, where I got tired of painting purple. Outside, it’s a slightly dented purple all over; it’s hard to tell that it used to be all those different colors. If I were more prone to prophetic omens, I’d assign some sort of similitude to the chest and myself, but I’m not feeling quite that metaphoric yet.
I filled the chest, and as I was dragging it down the hall I noticed that I couldn’t carry it by myself. When I get to Miami, I’m going to have to ask someone to help me move it in to my room. Dad gave me a hand getting it in to the car tonight, but he’s not going to be there next time. Sometimes I feel very alone in this: I don’t know anyone else in TFA either in my region or who’s going to be at the institute, but I’m sure that will go away once I get there. I need to not be so stubborn about doing things on my own; sometimes I need to know when to ask for help, it’s so hard for me to admit that I can’t do things alone. Hopefully I’ll find a roommate before I have to move my chest again.
While a sense of independence and solitude have settled in some parts of me, there is also a part of me which is very much not alone. That “not-aloneness” is something new that takes a little getting used to, but I must say it’s nice to expect a phone call almost every night. The only down side is that it makes me a little lax on my long-distance friend communication, and I haven’t talked to my sister in a shamefully long time. At dinner last week (god, was it only last week?), we toasted “to next year” and I really do think I’m looking forward to it. I’m so hesitant to make long-range plans, but I guess it’s contagious. Maybe that’s the scariest thing of all. Probably not.
As I drove home from the movie tonight (“Saved” so funny, so sarcastic), thinking about my relationship, I got to pondering relationships in general. It’s been quite the topic of discussion in my Va Beach circle, with Mandi and Rachael both separating from significant others this summer, and the theme of power in said relationships is also on everyone’s mind. I hadn’t thought about power balances too much, maybe it was Mandi’s feminist shirt that stuck the idea in my head. For whatever reason, whilst musing on the changes of “power” in my own fledgling relationship, I had an idea: maybe good relationships shouldn’t be about power. It’s fine to spend the beginning worrying about who’s in control, who likes whom more, and all that shit, but I feel as though the healthy relationships that I’ve seen last are less about power and more about partnership. I think that’s a nice little slogan: “Partnership, Not Power.” I’m going to keep that in the back of my mind for a while, and feel smug about having thought it. Isn’t that nice? Yes.
I feel much better having finally committed some of these thoughts to writing. When they’re floating and swirling about in my head, it’s so confusing, and not productive. Even though I’ve clearly wasted over an hour now that it’s done, I need to remember (what is this, like personal reminder #8?) that peace of mind and sanity are not something to downplay or ignore. I haven’t been writing in my journal lately, life has been so crazy. It would do me good to sit down for a while and just write it down, get it out of my head and move on. But alas, that’s another project for another day. Do I ever finish anything? Sigh. [sheepish smile?]