I’m fucking terrified.
Now that things are at the stage where I’m really doing the mental math and planning for this stuff, I’m slightly freaking out. As it stands, and if my little spreadsheet is correct, it looks like the money situation at home won’t be too bad for a little while, as long as they don’t cut hours. It will be nice to have at least one of us here selling the house. I won’t be rushing like crazy doing things before the money runs out.
However, that knowledge comes with the knowledge that THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING. I’m taking a huge leap of faith, jumping into what’s essentially an entire new life. He’ll get up there first to start for us. I’ll be going up later. Making a road trip out of it all, and taking a few days to get there, I’ll be camping along the way. I’m not going right now, but I am going. I’m selling the house, packing up my life, and going.
And I’m scared shitless.
We’re working out little details, the things I need to get done beforehand. There’s stuff to order, the cats need their shots, and I need a new car. I’ve got camping reservations to make, and a sleeping platform to build. Eventually, my plans will cease to be only lists on paper.
I can’t stop thinking about all the “what ifs”.
I wish I didn’t do this to myself. No one can predict everything, least of all my anxiety-riddled brain overthinking things. But it’s trying. My mind is coming up with scenarios constantly. I worry about everything: a cat (or both) getting out, what if they turn me away at the border. What if he doesn’t have a place for us and we’re trapped in a room with two cats because his parents have two cats and they fight. I try not to let it get to me, but it’s hard.
When I saw him Sunday, we compared fears. Neither of us got much sleep over the weekend. He has trouble getting to sleep on normal nights. I talked about how my overthinking kept me awake on Friday night. “You went down the rabbit hole,” he said.
That’s exactly it.
