Packing

Woke up somewhere around 4:45 this morning and could NOT go back to sleep.

We had the End of the Summer potluck last night.  Food was eaten.  Beer was consumed.

There's something about beer that makes me wake up bright and early.

And also the little niggling anxiety of packing.

See, tomorrow is departure day.  Wake up at 7, hike up the hill to the student dorm and catch the specially-rented shuttle bus to the train station at Angers.  From there it's a hike across Paris and off to the Netherlands for the final part of the trip.

The final part?

Yep.  It's already been 6 weeks.

It's time to go around this little place I've been calling home for the past two months and gather up all the things that have gradually moved farther and farther away from the suitcase.  I guess that means I feel like I live here or something.

It's a really funny feeling.  On one hand, I feel like I just got here, and on the other, I DON'T.

Part of the anxiety, I think, comes from what the end of this MEANS.  It means I'm about to not have a house to live in.  It means I'm about to not have a gig again.  It means I'm about to go back to a stressful life in NYC, wondering how I'm gonna make it and what I'm really supposed to be doing.  It means I'm not going to say, "Desolee, je suis American.  Je ne comprond pas" NEARLY as much as I do now.

It also means leaving a bunch of people who have become a kind of...oh my goodness.  I can't say it.  No.  Not a FAMILY.  But...something LIKE a family, I guess.  All the stability and security and peace and quiet... say goodbye folks.

Another part of the anxiety is that, when the timer went off at the end of the last set yesterday, something felt so FINAL about it.  Like, "That's it, Forky.  Let's do something else now."  And that has me a little bit scared.  Because if I took the path of least resistance, I'd probably just do this for the rest of my life.  The problem is, I don't think I OUGHT to do this for the rest of my life.  This modeling thing has become a crazy career that I didn't mean to fall into.  It's safe, I'm good at it, and I enjoy working with extraordinary talents and having .jpegs of portraits I can print off and give to my family at Christmas.

But is that all that this little Forky is destined for?  Hey, not knocking it.  There are worse things.  But are there OTHER things?

Yesterday I guess I unofficially decided that, when I get back to NYC, I'm not going to model for a while.  Go back to temping, focus on Christmas Carol rehearsals, work on these long put-off illustrations for these little stories I've written...  As long as the modeling is there, why do I need to explore?  Why do I need to ask myself, "What else is out there that you'd really like to do?"

So the Nutella gut may be here a little while longer if it keeps me from leaping back onto the model stand.

Is this unwise?  Is this stupid?

I just re-read "when I get back to NYC, I'm not going to model for a while" and I suddenly felt really really SAD.  Okay, how about I put it THIS way instead:

When I get back to NYC, I'm going to focus heavily on creating something resembling a 5 year plan...no.  Just 2 year plan.  Yeah, that's the ticket.

Okay.  I'll shut up now.  This suitcase isn't gonna pack itself.

:^\