Off Again

My house if a fucking mess and I have to pack. I'm leaving Paris tomorrow and I have yet to catch my breath since my return from Asia. I'm tired and sick and not looking forward to my flight tomorrow. I am, however, looking forward to seeing my parents and my dog again. Mom says the Rockster just got a haircut, and he's always so handsome when he comes back from the beauty parlor.

Tomorrow marks the beginning of a very long journey. In three weeks, I will: take a plane to Detroit, spend a few days in Ann Arbor (which will be spent a) going to Borders b) watching Jeopardy c) jogging and d) driving), take a plane to Minneapolis, spend a few days in Duluth, take a plane back to Detroit, spend a few more days in Ann Arbor, take a plane to Seattle, drive to Vancouver, take a boat to Alaska, fly to Seattle (?), somehow get to Portland, fly to New York (via Detroit) and then fly to Paris (via Amsterdam).

I'm seizing the insanity of this trip as a chance to mentally prepare myself for this year. I asked Omar the other day if she thinks I like to spread myself too thin. Her response was silence, which obviously means "yes," and I asked, somewhat exasperated "So you think it's too much to learn two languages, to write a master's thesis in a third, to do intensive yoga, to do some freelance writing, to teach English, and to insist on biking everywhere I go while still finding two hours or so a day to down the basic groundwork for my top-selling novel?" In my Fantasy Land, I could totally swing all of this, while still managing to go out to dinner every once in awhile and to see my man. But I think we all know that Fantasy Land is called Fantasy Land because it's never fully attainable. I've started thinking that maybe I should try to get more focus, ie pry-or-it-ize.

It's a tough balance. I don't *think* I want to repeat the insanity of last year (two jobs, full-time school, intensive Arabic), but looking back, I realized that's how I thrive. Last year was the second-happiest of my adult life (first being my first year in France, where everything was hunky dorey at all times and, on top of it, I got to fall in love with both a place and a person) even though it was exhausting and way over-the-top sometimes. Maybe I actually like overexertion. Maybe I do better in those situations. Maybe I really am as masochistic as I fear at times.

I don't know. I can't think of any element I want to eliminate. I think I'll just go ahead and get in over my head.

Luckily, no decisions have to be made today. I've got a lot of time in planes to think about it and make lists that I will never refer to again. Why is list-making such a rewarding thing to do? I probably come back to only 1/3 of the lists I ever make. It must be something type-a about me.

Blech, I'm in a terrible mood. I never get in bad moods... now I understand how shitty it must be to be a naturally moody person. I can recognize that my bad mood is totally irrational and not tied to anything in particular, but I'm still feeling crappy. I have to go clean the house and pack and cook some quiche and find my passport. Really, I just want to sit in front of my computer and read the news all day.

Ah, well. Body movin'. That's the only way I'm going to get out of this funk. I'll kill two birds with one stone and clean while listening to NPR.

PS You'll notice that the site looks different. I went the simple route and just made everything as streamlined as possible. This site has lost all its bells and whistles, but it works now, which is something. I don't know. I just had to make it not look like total shit for the entire time I'm in the States. Something had to be done.