Last Week in America

Countdown’s standing at five days until I get on the plane for Paris, bound for a year abroad. What could I possibly do to my brain to make it grasp this reality? I’ve tried repeated dosages (some quite large) of Yuengling beer and Diablo wine, I’ve tried taking it out in numerous checklists, and I’ve tried ripping up the checklists and just burying my face in my cat’s soft grey fur. I’d like to take my brain out, blow on it, shake it a few times, stick it back in and see if it’ll jump start.

After a spring of applying to the study abroad program (as well as my Painting department) and a summer of alternately lolling around listening to Mofro and frantically running trip-related errands, it seems I’ve finally reached a deer-in-the-headlights mind-numbness about it. I’ve played the same fantasies in my head so often of how it’s going to be over there, that the mental pictures don’t excite me anymore, and anyways I’m bone-weary of preparation. But at the same time, I’m panic-stricken at the thought that it’s about to really begin. I don’t feel ready, but I’m tired of getting ready. Can you tell that there’s been a emotional roller-coaster aspect to this adventure?

I do feel certain, though, that once I get in the truck to ride with my dad to the airport, my natural love for new things will take over, and give me the rush it’ll take to move out of this fog. Maybe I’m clinging to my boredom now, because I know instinctively how exciting everything is about to get!

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