I am prickling with anxiety, excitement, worry. My hands are always
restless, fingers opening and closing. My legs are not my legs.
I’m worried that I’ll forget some mundane detail and everything will go spinning apart and I will fail and fall.
I’m worried that I’ll be lonely.
One week. One week from this moment I’ll be on the road with one van one truck two friends five cats and STUFF.
And the end-of-relationship stuff is, of course, running like a
thundering river through all of this. I am angry and wistful and sad…
mostly angry, though. My point has been proven and italicized and
highlighted and underlined three times in red pen, and there is
frustration in realizing that it’s only useful to me. There is grieving
and steeling and teeth-gritting, reminding myself I am doing the right thing.
I will miss the convenience.
(I will learn to be self-sufficient again. This is actually very good.)
I will miss caring for others, most of all.
(There will be more. And in the meantime, it will be good for me to
learn to turn that caring inward, towards myself. This too, is good.)