Listening to: 1920's music
Reading: Soiled Doves
Actually, make that less than four months by one day. That's when I'll be moving across the pond to Spain.
I was having moments over the course of the past few days where I was starting to rethink that decision, "Should I really do this?" and "Am I ready to take this big of a leap of faith?" The numero uno reason for that was that a guy had entered the picture. Or so I thought. And I worried, what if this works out? Will I be making a major sacrifice?
Not to worry! Said dude and I were supposed to go on a date tonight, but then he texted me to announce that he'd met someone else.
So there's that.
Thus, it looks like my reservations were for naught. Yes, I'm definitely going to Spain. Yes, I'll be leaving friends and family and a sweet apartment behind (although my brother might move in once I'm out, so it'll still be "in the family") and, yes, I'll be moving to a country where I barely know the language and know not one person, but who cares? I've never left the continent. I'm terrified of flying. I'm terrified of flying overseas. But, God, the experiences and adventures I'm going to have are going to be so worth it and will only be more bits to incorporate into my writing. I'm so excited, but I'm also scared shitless, and I've got so much shit to do before November 1st that it's overwhelming.
So why the fuck did I cry over this dude again?