being comfortable is a bitch

So, this is where my head has been: nowhere attached to my body.

With everything that has happened since December 14th, ( my love moving, no new job, not graduating in December, thesis nightmare, income nightmare, living situation...)my mind has not been in the present-tense. Nope. It's been all in the future-tense. As in: Where am I going? What am I going to be doing? What the hell? What the fuck? And alrighty then. I realize some of those are not in the future-tense, but play along, will ya? Thanks.

Have you ever met someone, had a conversation with someone, met someone who just makes you re-think and reevaluate everything, and also manages to do it in the very best way? Well, that's kind of been what Mr. London has done to and for me and yet, he has no clue about this role he has played. He got a job, he moves in four months to another country and he's not taking anything other than his clothes and his computer with him. Nothing else. A professorship at King's College in Chemical Engineering. How awesome is that? Frustrating, sure, but I can't deny that's it is also pretty awesome.

I've been thinking about moving for over a year now. Finish school and move. Move where? Not sure. I had some ideas in mind: Madison, New York, LA, Europe, somewhere, anywhere that wasn't here. Just. Not. Here. I'm tired of here. I need a change, a fresh start. Then Mr. London tells me he is moving to London. You all already know about that, no need to repeat it. Okay, so I could move. I could move to London. I could and I would. I still haven't had the talk with him because I haven't seen him. Spoken on the phone and pretty much laid enough hints out that the only one missing was the anvil hitting his head labeled "hint." But, it's a conversation I want to have in person, you know, so I can actually see his head explode. However, regardless of if it's London, or the next college town, I want out of here. I need a change. I am far too comfortable here. Comfort can be a good thing, but it can also be a killer. I mean, why do we hit the snooze button three times in the morning? Because our bed is comfortable. The recliner? Same thing. And the same can be said for jobs, apartments, friends, relationships, and cities in which we reside. I am far too comfortable in my job, apartment, city, and relationships. Comfort means I don't get up and I don't do what needs to be done. I'm comfortable. A person needs to be uncomfortable for anything to be accomplished, for change to come.

So. I am so friggin ready to move. To get on with the rest of my life. To move. To move on, to start the next chapter. I want to move by August so desperately bad. So incredibly desperately bad. What's stopping me? Money. That damn 'ol Washington and lack thereof that aren't staring back at me. I have far too much debt to take with me anywhere. If it wasn't for the debt (as in credit cards) (and student loans, but I am on the twenty year plan on those, so I'm good.) I would be gone. Adios, see ya, I won't be back.

I'm actually thinking about not taking my trip to Greece and paying off my car with the funds and then applying the now defunct car payment to the plastic, but I also think several people would kill me if I did that, including myself come May.
I have pretty much all of my books, CD's, and DVD's on half.com and craigslist trying to hock those onto others. But then I was looking around the old apartment yesterday it occurred to me: other than my bookshelves, a hand carved cedar chest, my artwork and art supplies, a few mementos, and the contents of my bedroom and my laptop, I don't really need anything else. Everything else can and could be replaced. I want all of the material items to be gone. (I just knocked on something. Cause as much as I want them gone, I don't want them to be *poof* gone, as in a fire, flood, robbery. More of a garage sell, gone.)

If my ass isn't in London come August, then I am really thinking about my ass moving to Austin. Why Austin? Why not? It's warm, artsy, eclectic, and there is a great school and a graduate program I am interested in. I'm tempted at this point to simply move, have a few months in the bank, and not have a plan. Rent a hotel room and well, I'm pretty sure I can get a job as a waitress or a bartender. Just guessing on that one, but pretty sure. I find not having a plan to be almost comforting. I mean, how often do plans ever workout? Um.....never. So, why have one?

I don't know. I think the universe sends us messages and signals if we are aware and listening to them and frankly, between Mr. London, the job offer falling through, (which I actually think is for the best) all of the trouble with school, debt, the art going somewhere and the writing going nowhere, and all of the other things I can't think of in 70 WPM, I have pretty much felt like the universe has been screaming at me. It's time to stop ignoring it.

Future post: ways in which I am whoring myself out that doesn't require having my legs in the air...or around my head...or..