I am here.
I. Am. Here:
4 weeks ago, it was nothing more than a crazy thought I had. Something I “always wanted to do” and felt that eventually I would do – one day. Until I really thought about it, and realized – now is my “one day.”
And now I am in disbelief when I look around this perfect little Bordeaux apartment.
It’s not quite sinking in that this is my home for the next month. I’ve unpacked. I’ve put underwear in drawers and shoes on shelves. I’ve figured out the French instructions on the washing machine and I’ve put on a load of laundry.
I’ve fumbled through half an hour of awkward Franglish conversation and instructions from the lovely girl who has rented me her apartment. I’ve cried in embarrassment because I forgot to get money out to pay her my rent. And it’s Sunday, so I had to max out every withdrawal limit on every card I have to pay her in volumes of tens and twenties.
I’ve spent just as much time on Skype with my hubby and my cats than I’ve been alone.
I’ve used the pink toilet paper in the bathroom.
I’ve put some of my favourite tunes on, and have welled up thinking of the 14 days that stretch ahead of me before my hubby gets here. But I’m not lonely. I’m not worried about being alone.
but I think I’m maybe afraid of being faced with…..this. I am overwhelmed with the independence. The sheer joyful emptiness of the days ahead, and the fear of what I may (or may not) discover. The heart-poundingness and the greedy anxiousness of wanting to know what these weeks will be like and what could be waiting to be uncovered (or not). I have a multitude of expectations and anticipations. But in contradiction, I also have no expectations whatsoever.
I think I’m probably going to write. A lot. I don’t know how much of it will make it here onto this blog. But I have some ideas….stay tuned.