Vois Sur Ton Chemin

...

Fuck.

This is starting to look like the end of something, and I don't mean Hemingway. No, this is the point where I feel the subtle weight of my departure like a handmade backpack full of organic produce. My weekend, interspersed with bouts of virgorous manual labor, included several meetings, lists: What to Bring, Documents You'll Need, Stuff to Take Care Of Before You Leave.

The next three weeks are going to be awesome. I've tons of plans, two different houseguests, no class (a first since last August!), hopefully no work, and summer in Colorado. Yet everywhere I go I feel an itch between my shoulder blades, like someone's watching me (I knew I never should've talked to that creepy guy!), making me feel constantly unsatisfied, as if I should be eking more out of my last Boulder moments.

It's not like it won't be here when I get back. It was after the last time. True, they bulldozed what seems like half my hometown to make way for another grocery store complex and the beginnings of a second, and the 42-foot hotdog that was a kitchy landmark and site of many childhood memories has moved to greener pastures. If course, it ain't Kansas any more. I know when I get back it'll be different, many of the people I knew will have graduated and moved on (hopefully). Such friends as I have will have changed--like last time, some friends will fade into acquaintences with whom I have a shared past and only a mildly similar present. My Europe stories will once again be stored for some undetermined appropriate future time, when I feel I can tell them without coming off as an egoist or an elitist. "Oh, that reminds me of this one time when I was in Italy..." does not endear me to people who do not understand that these experiences comprise the entirety of my last year.

And I still hold on to it. I still think about and talk about 'last year,' last year being the one I spent across the pond and not the 11 months I have spent in Boulder. I still hold on to, think about and talk about, this 'last year'. Partly because it's different, it's not Boulder and therefore unique; partly, it's because I'm still in 'this year' and in order for that to become 'last year' I need to move beyond; partly, these experiences play an important role in defining who and what I am.

I've changed quite a bit as a result of them. I'm proud of this, put in effort to 'improve' my life, wear these changes like badges of honor, distinguishing characteristics. I think they make me boring, too. I get brownie points from Grownups, equivalent to pinching my cheek, for 'living responsibly'. I take things seriously, I go to bed early, and maybe I miss out. And maybe not. Mostly, I'm happy that way, and am learning to entertain myself without constantly having to surround myself with other people (though sometimes I wish I had other people who would surround me).

Lately I feel sorry for myself--or better said, feel unhappy, because I am mourning Boulder. Already. I fear I will spoil my last weeks by saying goodbye too soon. I feel lethargic sometimes. I don't call people, don't bother to find things to do, stay home and watch movies. I don't want to invest myself in a place I will soon leave, as if by staying home I would be happier.

The next three months--perhaps longer; perhaps forever--I will be homeless. These months I will live out of a suitcase, and stay no longer than a couple of weeks in any one place. I will see many old friends, people and places, and hopefully meet new friends. I will be off on an adventure, this time not excluded on basis of language from fully enjoying Germany. I hope to see and do things I've not done before.... and I will enjoy it. And have new stories to tell, for those who wish to hear them...

posted by Vivyenne @ 9:41 PM