The what, the real, the check (the wank).

Some days, like today, I want to take a deep breath and pause and have time stop for a few minutes. Or days. Or maybe a year.

I leave for Nepal in 2 weeks, and I am fully aware that my melodramatic panic is:
 a) a story I'm making up in my own head
 and
 b) an incredibly self indulgent wank
 but that doesn't stop me from laying in bed and listening to Joy Division, now does it?

Some of the panic is in earnest - I still do have a to-do list that is quite daunting (grad school applications, anyone?) but for the most part things are under control. I gave up my apartment last month, I have the required documents and shots and emergency malaria meds.... but something feels unhinged. And when I say something, I mean me.

In my rush to graduate and then secure the perfect position in Nepal and then deal with a series of dramas (ok, and real dramas too) I may have forgotten to do the most important part of travel - the reality check.

The reality check that in 2 weeks I leave Canada for the developing world.

The reality check that in 2 weeks I will once again see dying dogs on the side of the road.

The reality check that in 2 weeks I will once again see dying children on the side of the road.

The reality check that I'm doing this alone for the first time and I'm scared.

That said, I am fine. And I will be fine. It's just that it's all starting to sink in. These plans that I made in June - what was then a thinly veiled excuse to get away from a particularly toxic relationship - are becoming a reality. And realities are pricks. They need checks - those fuckers will run roughshod over you if left unfettered.

So I am trying to feel it, to imagine it and to let it sink in. 2 weeks. Breathe. 2 weeks. Breathe.

Now if only Ian Curtis could've taken that same advice....