woah, now.

Today I looked at a real-life calendar for the first time in a week. Wait. That can't be right. Shit.

Is it already February 1?

Apparently so. 

That means that in 20 short days (that's only two weeks and six days), I'll be waving goodbye to this entire hemisphere from the window of a big fat commercial plane to New Zealand.

With both hands, I'm waving goodbye to my wintertime quasi-job of working behind a counter. I basically spend my hours reading. Then there's a whole lot of standing, looking at my feet, and using my psychic powers to make them stop hurting. Here's the cat's-eye view.

I'm also working on building a paperclip empire... or farm.

[These sculptures are - as my studio art major roommate would say in a strained voice, imaginary cigarette dangling from her emaciated fingers - ahhhhhrrrrrt. The purest form of my soul. In paperclip form.]

I'll be waving goodbye to a certain comfortable tedium that I've fallen into all winter. Like this foggy mountain that I could drive over with my eyes closed.  

On the other hand, I'll be leaving behind a bunch of things that I really enjoy. Goodbye to pancakes in my mother's kitchen, the loop by my house that I run nearly every morning, the winter songbirds on the garden feeder in the morning, and unlimited in-person communication with my boyfriend and family. I'm also going to assume New Zealandites don't drive rusty blue pickup trucks with rebel flags plastered over the back window.

So now there's a whole lot of nerves jangling up my insides. Half of me is foot-tapping and wishing for to get out of here faster. The other half is clinging to her Twinkie wrapper and gazing tearfully at an American flag blowing in the wind.

Is it possible I'm experiencing early-onset culture shock? Whuf.