I think it's time to go.

Not that I'm packed. Oh, no, far from that. But in ways other than readiness of material possessions, it is time to go.

So what do I do for the next week? A good question. I'm not exactly sure. Pack, obviously. Keep saying goodbye... over and over and over again. The knowledge that I am leaving soon seems to lay heavily on everyone except me. Typical. The person most concerned is the person least involved.

I spent a great deal of time on the phone last night, talking to people back in Norman. And I'm glad I had the chance to, but I feel as though there is only one conversation I left, and with everyone to whom I speak it is this same conversation, with only very slight variations. Yes, I leave in a week... a week from Thursday... no, I'll be working with a language helper, a native speaker... orientation was good... yes, I'm excited about going... not really worried... not really any more dangerous there than it is here... yes, I'll have email access... I'll keep you posted on how things are going........
There is only one conversation, repeated infinitely many times.

One of my teammates sent around a list of books that she's packing-- she wanted to make sure we didn't waste space by all bringing copies of the same book. Funny, I'm not bringing any of the books on her list. In fact, with one exception, I don't even own any of the books on her list. I'm supposed to send out a list of the books I'm packing, but (even if I knew for certain which books those were) I have to wonder: how likely is it that any of my team would be considering packing any of the books I might bring? How likely is it that they would even own any of those books, or that they would be interested in reading them?

I'm not slighting them. But sometimes I am very aware of the differences that stretch between each of us... and sometimes I am very aware that many of my books are not usually considered 'appropriate' reading. Oh, sure, probably few people would actively disapprove of Faulkner or Dickens. But that's probably because they've never really read them. And Faulkner and Dickens might be considered the 'safest' of my books.
And then there's my music....

I seem to require many safe people.

A couple of days with Kristin and I'm feeling much restored. I think sleeping most of the weekend helped too. Quite possibly.

I have this vague idea that I'm supposed to be packed and ready to go in about a week, but I have very little conscious or coherent idea of why. Or of where I'm going. Occasionally I receive emails from people who are already leaving, and then my fog of confusion clears a bit and I think, Oh yeah, I'm moving to north Africa. Otherwise I'm not really aware of it.

It's so amazingly wonderful to sit in this house and know that I'm the only one here and everyone else is at work and won't be home anytime soon. Astoundingly wonderful. It's quiet. No voices, no laughter, no music. Just the clack of the keyboard and the tick-tock of the clock on the wall. And I know that if I allow it, all thoughts and concerns and emotions will fall away, will slide off and puddle around me like discarded clothing, till nothing remains but the core of me, a tranquil emptiness. A purity I have not found in weeks.

Restoration and balance.

At last... orientation is finished and I am out of Virginia. And it's storming here in Houston-- a welcome change from the haze of Richmond. Right now, however, I'm so exhausted I can hardly walk a straight line (actually, I'm not sure that I can at all). It's now been been almost 36 hours since I've slept, except for those few uncomfortable moments of delirium and loss of consciousness during my flights today. Hopefully after a couple of days of sleep I'll regain some modicum of thought-capability and find some much needed perspective on what's happened over the past seven weeks.

Until then.

Things are much better today. Not that I'm no longer sick of being micromanaged and shoved into group time at every moment of the day, but only that my natural ability to withdraw to my own safe place (mentally, at least) has reasserted itself. And even better-- I was able to stay up late last night, knowing that when I went to bed I wouldn't have to set my alarm at all. (That did, of course, require skipping the dreaded weekly group talk, but I'm well beyond feelings of guilt for missing that.) And today we have nothing else except personal interviews-- mine is about to start-- and the wonderful freedom of a nearly empty schedule has buoyed me up considerably.

INTP-- prone to sudden and violent outbursts of emotion if pushed too far. Yup. I'd say that holds true.

My interview is starting.

I am finally and truly sick of being here. Everything I have done today has been a backlash resulting from my extreme frustration (bordering on anger) at the controlling atmosphere in which I have been imprisoned for the past five weeks. I'm tired of being expected to come up with questions and comments-- questions and comments which no one can answer because "it will be different wherever you go". So why are we still discussing it?

Ahh. The release of complaining. And now I'm going to take a nap. And practice avoiding 'reality' for a while.

We're in the midst of regional leadership time (RLT) right now. Which is great, because while our region has nearly 40 people going through orientation right now, that's still nothing like sitting through classes filled with 140 people. Or worse, almost 300. That's draining. The sheer volume of people is exhausting. So RLT is a much welcomed respite. But it also makes me impatient-- RLT is designed to give us training and information specific to where we'll actually be living, and that shifts my focus more to going and how much I want to be there now. Especially since we're into our fifth week here, and my mental hard drive has definitely already reached capacity. Not too mention that I long ago overtaxed my RAM. These days in classes I practice Arabic far more than I listen.

I've suddenly run out of thoughts and words. I'm off to bed.

My weekend hasn't felt like much of what most would consider a good weekend-- Friday and Saturday were spent in training to become certified to teach ESL/EFL. All in two days. I did get to sleep for part of this morning, since Erin and I had made an 'executive decision' and decreed that HC would start at 11:00 and go no later than noon. We were all in need of a break. Rehearsals for this evening's service started this afternoon at 3:00. We had a 15 minute break to eat dinner and then a couple of frantic run-throughs with all the auxiliary folks before the service started. But now, at long last, my duties are complete and I've a couple hours to read or write or do whatever before I go to bed.

However much I enjoy most of my time here, I have no doubt that I'll be relieved when this is over. Courtesy of my ESL training seminar, I found out Friday that the emotional need for my particular learning style is freedom from micromanagement. There are days when I think this place is one big attempt at micromanagement. (I say 'attempt' because I am, of course, too wily to be enslaved by such obtuse tactics as those employed here.) So I apply many of the same strategies I used in college and I come through looking like the golden child. With the ever-present and hard-to-overlook touch of cynicism.

Smile a lot and don't ask many questions.

I achieve balance.

Tonight I finally snuck out the back gate and went for a run alone in the blessed dark. Nothing but fields on either side, and only the stars overhead. After muddling through two days of insanity and group activities (that was probably redundant) and cowering under the impending doom of at least two more, I needed to escape. To have my existence defined by nothing more than breathing and running. No thoughts, no questions, no words. One foot inexorably in front of the other, pointed straight down the dark line of road.

I achieve balance.

Many thanks to Average Woman for the lines from Paradise Lost. Contributions are much appreciated (or at least chuckled over).