My dad took the last of my boxes over to the storage room today, and my room is basically as set up as it's going to get. I was folding my laundry this morning when I realized that it's been a month since I've been home. And after a long weekend of feeling-induced-anxiety attacks, it's hard to believe that it's only been a month. With all the processing I've been undergoing with the guilt and the destroyed confidence and the writer's block and the lack of motivation, it feels like I've been back for years.
Dealing with time has been a hard part of this transition. Everything I had and thought I would be doing by now seems like it happened a lifetime ago. Everything that I was so sure about changed so quickly. And really, where has the time gone? I've diddled around doing endless loads of laundry and reading and moving dressers and changing the locations of earrings and books and magazines and DVDs and pictures on the walls, distracting myself to no end.
I still don't really have a plan. But I think that's ok. I've never really had a plan. Well, I had a plan when I moved, but yeah. I didn't even really have a plan when I was younger, either. But a lot of good things have happened to me as a result of not being a planner. I met a lot of great people. I've met a lot of my idols. I've been to a lot of places. I've seen a lot. And it's not like I lack passion or don't want to amount to anything. I have a truck full of ambition, but no one's really behind the steering wheel. Everyone's in the back taking a snooze or playing Words with Friends.
So yeah. Plans-less? Yes. Goal-less? No. But it's hard to nail down a career trajectory when all I really want to do is sit at my awesome new desk and bang out blog entries in-between traveling jaunts. One day I'll find a way around it. Until then, Je vais à flâne. (which is really just a fancy way of saying I'm going wander/loaf about aimlessly. But everything sounds more credible in French, mais oui?)
Just gotta make it work, right?