The time is now
I'm packed, backed-up, photocopied, stored and dated. And I'm bugging out big time. Right now, I'm full of churny, squirmy fear and sadness and I can't remember if I felt like this the last time I went away. My composure took a massive dent earlier this afternoon when I couldn't find my passport and I proceeded to spend two hours tearing apart the house and having a nervous breakdown. I found it eventually, but it felt like A Sign. Because nobody seems to be happy around here about me doing this and the not-feeling-happy has seeped into my self-conscious. A Sign that this is not the right thing to do. I mean, I *know* it is, but parts of me are second-guessing every decision made up until this point. Fuck.
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