Scared.
I'm fucking scared. The enormity of what I'm doing, how it will change my life, is staggering. I can't sleep because of it, at least not for now. I close my eyes and start thinking, and I get this icy ball of absolute fear in my stomach...
I'll be getting on a plane a week and eight hours. Everything I know, everyone I love, all that will be left behind. I don't know if I'll ever come home for more than a weekend at a time. I'll probably never see any of my friends again; I'm not bringing any part of my life with me.
I know this is the thing I want to do. I always get worked up like this before I go away by myself; I did before the Europe trip, that's for sure. Once I'm out the door, I'll feel like I'm in the front car of the biggest fucking rollercoaster in the world just crawling up that first hill, right until I have to actually
do something. Then I'll snap out of it.
The 61st anniversary of D-day was Monday. I didn't say anything because frankly, I don't have the words, but right now I feel like I'm in one of those landing boats, waiting for the ramp to drop and the bullets to fly.
I'm starting a new life, erasing all the vestiges of my past, and that is terrifying.
