I'm ready to leave, but at the same time I'm not.
I'm ready to not have to answer the same questions and have the same conversations over and over and over again. My tolerance has grown thin, "like butter scraped over too much bread". Yes I'm excited to go. No my bags aren't packed. I'm leaving August 18th. My program is two years of classwork with up to three additional years to write a thesis. I don't feel like this will be "such an adventure" because this is my life. I'm not going on a safari. I'm making a life move, a change, and the fact that it's taking place in Mystical! Magical! New York City doesn't make it anymore of an "adventure" than if I were moving to Nowhere, Oklahoma.
I'm ready to go and start the next stage of my life. It's time to move into the apartment I'm paying rent for, to furnish it and make it my own. I received my coursebook from Columbia and submitted my class assignment requests. The only thing I'm not ready for is what to wear to my first day of orientation, or my first day of classes. Because what does one wear to begin an Ivy League education? Probably the same thing one would wear to begin anything important: whatever the hell one wants.
Mentally, I'm ready to go.
Emotionally, I'm not so confident.
This is where I wish I could skip to the end. It would be really really fantastic if I could say my goodbyes, so longs, see ya soons without having to actually be emotionally present. The hardest part of this, so far, is turning out to be bidding farewell my friends, my family, my cat (yep), all those I'm closest to.
I always knew it would be hard to say goodbye - the saddest word - but I didn't think I'd get misty on the bus going past my doctor's office. He's been a really great doctor, though.
Maybe this means I'm not completely dead inside.