Cue the synthesizers; it's time to dance.
I am awash with pre-trip jitters. It comes in stages, creeping in on me while I'm paying attention to other things. But I've learned how to deal with such things without going completely crazy, so I think I've been holding my own.
Stage One: Distraction. Inability to focus on important thing. Get sidetracked by unimportant details that really, truly, honestly don't matter at all. Fantasize about potential future events, activities, conversations... even imagine what sorts of thoughts I might be having at some hypothetical point in the future.
Stage Two: Frustration. It occurs to me that I can't get anything done and I feel like a loser. I try really hard to do something, anything, knowing from the beginning that I'm doomed to fail because in ten minutes I'll want to do something else, anything else. I get really bitchy and take it out on the closest person. Michael begins to wonder why I'm being so bitchy.
Stage Three: Realization. Not a genius for nothing. I have a knack for seeing patterns, even in my own behavior, though that can be trickier. I think, what's wrong with me? There's no reason for me to be so angry about burning my lunch. That doesn't normally piss me off this much. Oh yes! Pre-trip jitters! This happens every time! Embrace them, Kati! All will be right with the world again. I go apologize to Michael and he is kind enough to lie to me and tell me I was never really that bitchy.
Stage Four: Projects. Normally I'll start to make something creative, which I may or may not ever finish. That part doesn't matter. The important part is the doing, because it refocuses this extraordinary amount of energy that the universe is channeling through me. My projects this time are 1) reading a dozen books in two weeks 2) walking dozens of miles in two weeks 3) watching Babylon 5 again. The best part is that, because I'm about to go away for an unbearably long period of time, Michael and I have managed to make these projects interactive, with walks to the library, inconsequential discussions on the writing styles of various authors and how I'm better than them and would be a published New York Times best selling author too if only I would ever finish a damn book, and curling up on the couch to debate the theory, characters, and storyline of Babylon 5, which is just a great story.
Stage Five: Excitement. I dance about while cooking. I hop up and down in my seat while checking email. I can't stay put. I feel like I'll explode. By the end of the week, I'll be unable to sleep because there will be so much energy coursing through me, so many thoughts in my head that will refuse to quiet down. But I've gone without sleep before, and I'll remind myself (many times) that I should lay still and rest at least, and eventually I'll sleep again. I'll remind myself (many times) that it's okay to be tired and that I shouldn't be bitchy at people because of it. I'll remind myself (many times) that time passes quickly, that this'll be a great trip, a great summer, that I'll look back on fondly once I'm back in the arms of the man I love. I'll remind myself (many times) that though we'll be far apart, we'll still be married, still be the couple we are, we'll still communicate often. I'll remind myself (many times) that everything is going to be just fine, just like always. And then I'll remind myself to believe it. And for the most part, I will.
Stage Six: Lists. I know I'll forget everything, as unfocused as I am, so I'll begin to compile lists of things I need to do, and pack, and buy upon my arrival. While I'm anally remembering every possible detail of what I need to live, I'll conveniently forget that I'm a highly adaptable person and that no real harm will be done if I forget to buy baking soda that first day and have to resort to using shampoo on my hair. Then, I'll remember that about myself once I realize what it is I forgot and see how easily I subsequently adapt, and I'll feel a whole lot better.
Stage Six is scheduled to begin later on today. Right now I'm in Projects and Excitement stage. I swing back and forth between elated anticipation, and anxious apprehension. This will be a great experience. This will be six weeks away from my husband. How can both of those things be true at the same time? We've never been this long apart. I can imagine what the actual Quentin Burdick Practicum will be like... I've had experiences similar to that so I can anticipate a fair approximation of what that'll be like. But six weeks away from Michael? I have no standard for that. I don't know what that'll be like at all.
But I've made contingency plans. I'll be busy with work, but only for about forty hours a week. I'll be busy with my community for an unknown amount of time every week. We'll be creating a play for the asthma camp. We'll be wild pig hunting. We'll be horseback riding. We'll be taro farming. We'll be volcano seeing. And if there be time left for me to mope and feel lost and miss my husband, I have a new book to write. And I'm bringing thesis stuff to work on. And I'm bringing books to read. I will fill up every minute of my time if I have to. Relaxing things and fun things and creative things and important things.
Everything will be just fine. Just like always.
Remember.
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