The Last/First Week

Here I find myself, the time has come. Running the homestretch, or to me, what feels like the road leading me the furthest away from home. Yet, this is silly. Of course this can’t be true. My panicked little brain keeps having panicked little thoughts of the wonderful list of horrific things that will happen to me when I leave for college this week.

I won’t make any friends, and develop social anxiety from lack there of.

My family will forget about me, or there will be an accident at home.

I won’t be able to sleep in my teeny tiny bed in my teeny tiny room.

I’ll lose all motivation to go to the gym, to do homework, to eat healthy, to (the worst possible scenario of all) write.

With these thoughts and more looming over my blonde head, not to mention the stress of ripping apart my room and dad’s wallet trying to gather my belongings for moving out and moving in, I am a mess- mostly mentally at the moment, but if you happen to see me roaming the isles of the local Target with unbrushed hair and wild eyes, I wouldn’t be surprised.

A face of combined excitement dampened with stress (photography: Megan Sunderland)

This is my last week of summer, my last week of living full-time with my parents and brothers, the last week of freedom from the thoughts of the future (just kidding, envisioning the next book, article, and blog never gives me any rest).

This is the last week we’ve all been prepared for, the week of goodbyes, soggy tissues, and packed cars full of clothes and mini-fridges.

And yet, this is my first week as a true adult (sort of), living life on my own (sort of). I’ve created my own schedule, I’ve picked out my own decorations, I’ve determined my own major and future plans after this semester, if I make it that far of course.

This is the first week we’ve all been prepared for, the week of rising to the occasion to schedule in lunch, make it to the morning class, attend the mandatory residency meeting, find time for yoga, and type out the history paper. It’s up to me now whether I’ll make it all happen, or let it all go.

With this much pressure, it’s no wonder why I can barely sleep/walk/eat/move/write/breathe normally.

For now, as I take a break from shoving as many pairs of sandals and boots as I can into a black trash bag to sit down and type this, I’m focusing on just the breathing part, but by the time I begin the process all over again on my own this time, I’m hoping to have all my functions back.



PS: Oh yeah, and on top of all the above jumbled mess, my second book “Project 105” is now released and available on Barnes & Noble, Amazon, Lulu, and my dining room table.

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