The uncalm before the nearly-here storm. Time to let all y’all know what’s going down in the world of Steff before leaving home.
My home is chaos. 80% of what I own has been offloaded or has been paid a deposit on and will be gone by Friday.
Friday, the first of my two friends arrives to help for the weekend. My family are visiting in town. I’m pushing through the evils of taxation so I can submit my year-to-date papers to my accountant on Wednesday. I’m waiting for final word on insurance plans. I need to pull the trigger on that by next week.
Sunday is leaving home day. As in, I give up my apartment I have so loved, hand the keys back to the landlord, and officially become a nomad.
Leaving Home, then Leaving Canada
A week from today, I’ll be pooped but about to hang out with friends on the Mainland for a pub night, kicking off a week of farewells and birthday-celebrating, including a makeover with full highlights, mani-pedi, and more, since I won an awesome $500 prize earlier this summer.
Two weeks from today, I hop an afternoon flight to London.
Three weeks from today, I will have already enjoyed my first weekend in Croatia.
It’s down to the wire now and I’ve got a fridge full of Chinese food and frozen pizza — garbage that needs to go out, and more.
My allergies are raging against the army of dustbunnies amassing for total Steffworld domination. My eyes are droopy and old-looking. I consciously stop to take deep breaths often, because I’m so lost in what I’m doing I sometimes literally forget to breathe.
This, friends, is what two years of 60-hour weeks looks like in the bitter waning hours.
But in three days, I’ll send in my work file, and that’s it for work for 25 days — the longest break I’ve ever taken without having to sign up for unemployment insurance during the process.
The Delusion of Hope
I think, four weeks today, when I’m returning to work after 25 days off, I’ll look — and more importantly feel — like a new woman*.
So, there. I pressed pause. That’s where I am. Hang in there, folks. Soon I’ll regale you with tales of worlds travelled, ruins found, foods discovered, and the faces I meet along the way. Leaving home ain’t always about running away. Sometimes it’s about choosing something new to run to.
Thanks for all your support. Making dreams come true is hard work. Sometimes blogs can get neglected in the throes of doingness. Soon, writing is the reward.
*A year later: Yeah, that never happened. Hahahaha. How naive. No, it wasn’t until the next July that I finally got to breathe — nearly 10 months later.