I’m leaving tomorrow for seven weeks to Europe. I have been talking about an extended Europe trip since I last did it with J in 2004. We have gone back, I have gone back, but never long enough to fall into it like the previous times. I remember the first time I on a whim made the decision to spend two months backpacking Europe in 2002. I was so young and blonde then. I can’t believe that was seven years ago. I remember crying for days when I first got there, missing my boyfriend, unsure of where to go or what to do, especially because I was on a serious sobriety kick. I got over it quickly, in every way possible. I came home tanned, full of European fashion with a sexuality that oozed out of every pore.
I’ve been trying to write about leaving for days now, but every time I start, I end up an emotional wreck and have to stop prematurely. I’ve also been trying to cram in everyone and everything in my life as if this is it, this is the end. There’s been so much endings and new beginnings lately, I’m overwhelmed by it all.
I’m starting my trip with partying till I bleed in London, then to wwoff in France on the Atlantic ocean, then to Lyon, then Avignon across to Venice and south to Bari then a ferry across to Kefalonia to Thessaloniki to Prague back to London. Then I have two days to recover and then orientation for graduate school.
I haven’t started packing or doing much at all, and time is running out. My heart is so full of goodbyes lately. Leaving work is getting heavy. I’ve been crying publicly. I had no idea I would get so sentimental over a job, even though my work is more than a job, more like a huge part of my existence, not because I work so much, but because of my job, the people, the workplace and most of all, my boss, a woman who I have taken so much from and been so inspired by.
Here is a photo of Belle Ile, the place of one of the farms I will be working on:
I’m going to try to find the origin of stars.
