I have an unhealthy Golden Girls obsession. You’ve been warned.
Rose: “Well, I’m off!”
Dorothy: “That would be my diagnosis”
And so am I.
It’s 2:35 am and I’m busy procrastinating on packing those final pieces still. We leave in 2 hours. And I just can’t.
Like, what the fuck is wrong with me.
I’m sitting here, flipping between coffee and wine – at nearly 3am – because it’s the last glass I can have. Until the next one. But wait – I should have coffee. Then I see the wine. Maybe one more glass.
This will be the last one.
I knew it would be hard. I didn’t know it would be this hard.
I’ll be surprised if they let me on the plane – I’ve been crying for 12 hours and look like I’ve been on a 20 year bender. I have just under 7 hours to pull myself together before we take off.
The worst of the baggage has been packed for years. Lets be honest.
Everything else is just superficial. Things to bring comfort and help me feel like I’m not actually away. That I’m not alone.
Comforts and entitlements…all the little silver spoons of North American life, rolled up tightly in a suitcase, only to drag it all behind me until it can decompress and cause me anxiety in a new, unfamiliar place.
To whoever reads this. For all of you giving me encouragement. For all of you who have walked this walk, and every one of you taking the time to think of me. For every one of you waking up each morning and being strong enough to not only stay sober one more day, but being strong enough to cheer on total strangers who are fumbling, just like me.
I feel ridiculously self indulgent – but this blog was only ever intended for me. I didn’t think for a second that anyone would actually get it. Or even read it. I just thought this was easier than actually, physically writing things down – you know, like the old days.
In any case, I’m off.
Let the games begin.