The Exodus Pt. 2 (8/13)

I am a ball of nervous energy. Somehow I managed to work myself into an absolute frenzy- I leave two weeks from yesterday, but I started packing today, because everyone is leaving and I need to figure out how to get everything home without breaking the bank as well as my very soul.

At the refuge office today we ordered pizza for lunch, because after Friday, I'll be the last intern on the refuge (last man standing?). The YCC finishes up this week, in addition to Ocie and the other FWS intern. I spent most of the day finishing up one of the projects I started- I've been working on a water observation manual, for the next lucky hydrology technician intern. The day was unobtrusive. But once I returned to the bunkhouse, shining and spotless after the departure of americorps, I went into my fervor, squishing things into boxes to send home (Why did I feel the need to purchase so many books? I NEVER LEARN.) and maniacally taping and addressing things to go back West. My home zipcode became a sort of personal mantra while I rolled around the floor.

Then, after praying the to great god of the postal service, I started packing my suitcase, which means now I'll be too wound up to unpack anything and consequently have a pair of jeans to get me through the next two weeks.

Maybe I have two pairs. I don't even know any more. I even had the urge to pack my toothbrush.

But I always get like this around the time I leave- mentally packing and unpacking, organizing things into scientifically precise piles all around my room. Sure, I'm excited, but right now I can only imagine all the things that could possibly ever go wrong ever.

I can't stress the significance of having a pair of pajamas in my carry on in case of emergency. That is my priority right now. Having pajamas. I'm losing my marbles.

Anyway, one of the things that stuck out to me earlier in the year when I was applying for an SCA position was the name of this refuge. The Great Dismal Swamp. It sounds uncomfortable and formidable, and was the source of nightmares and a quiet self-loathing I developed at my most anxious points. I figured, everyone will have to take me seriously if I manage to make it through a Summer at a place with a name like Dismal. And then my logical brain kicked in and I ended up kicking myself- of course, everything worked out fine and I'm sure that's the way it's going to be once I set sail (get it?), but in the meantime, I'm in the middle of a crisis.

So I'm sitting here, wild-eyed, stressing about pillows and wondering what makes me so adventurous and why I feel the resistible urge to travel, because my life would be quiet, familiar, and comfortable if my silly little head didn't drag me all over the country. 

The past several days I've been talking to a friend from high school. He grew up in the airforce, like I did, and moved right after high school, like I did. When I told him I was nervous about my next move I can only imagine the way he considered the absurdity of my words. Kindly, he told me that it would be exactly like every other move I've made in my life. Which is utterly true, and only marginally comforting, because the parallel evokes a shadow of childhood terror, and I'm back where I started.

But I am incredibly lucky, my opportunities have been vast and tangible, and my experiences varied and fulfilling. Yet that definitive fact never quite prevents the mental shakedown I experience every time I decide I'm feeling especially young, capable, and adventurous.