Counting Down

Well, it's getting closer to That Time. My room is still rather messy- though I swear there is underlying order- and schoolwork is in that strange lull, like the water rushing out of a bay before it becomes a tsunami wave.

It's strange. When I'm getting ready to leave one place for another, and to be gone for a long time, the whole world changes. At first I think that everything will just quietly ramp up to the frantic last minute departure, but that's never how it works.

What it really feel like, is a slipping of reality. I'm getting ready, doing things, so that I can not be here. When there's still a few weeks to go, the trip doesn't even seem that real, or possible. It's like I'm baking cookies for Santa Clause or something- yeah, it's the thought that counts, but really we all know that Dad is going to eat them on the way to the bathroom at midnight.

After that, there's a brief moment at the axis when it all seems normal, manageable, ordinary, and understandable. That's how it feels like getting ready should always be.

I'm in the last stage now, though. The stage where here seems to dissolve, and there isn't quite material yet. As I say goodbye to all the people and places and routines that I love, I have to think objectively about all of it- what do I need, what will I miss, who will miss me. And as the catalog mounts and I pay closer and closer attention to everything, the world takes on a misty quality. I'm surprised by things around the house, I don't know where to look for things, I forget routines. I can't quite imagine life at my destination, and it seems I'm already forgetting life here.

This lasts anywhere from three days to a couple of weeks beforehand, and usually ends abruptly, like waking up. It could be on the plane, when the stewardesses do the safety pantomime, or when I look down at my own city spiraling down the drain as we climb; it could be gritty eyed over my tea at the airport, waiting to leave at 5 AM; it could be halfway through the orientation lecture in Washington.

Whenever the bubble of forgetfulness bursts, the world is a whole new place. Everything is amazing and vivid and exciting, and I feel invincible.

So. Here's me, bumbling my way to bed in a cloud, and looking forward to the untouchable grace of being on the move again.