No rest for the wicked

I landed in Seattle at about 1:00 PM today. By 2:00 my clothes were up in the closet. By 3:00 I was headed out to get on a bus and go downtown, feeling like I was going to take this town on all by myself . . . . I didn't need anyone to show me around.

Yenn helped me work out a bus route - then the bell boy sent me in the wrong direction. I walked 20 minutes one way before I realized I was in the wrong place. I almost called a cab to come rescue me. When I got back to the hotel, I spoke with the concierge who pointed me in a better direction, but when I got to the bus stop I realized I only had a $5 and needed to break it into smaller bills. By that time it was 4:30 or so. I'd had coffee to drink and not eaten all day. Yenn and I were working out how I'd get back on the same route when the dead battery beep sounded off on my cell phone.

That was how I ended up ordering room service. It wouldn't be an adventure without wrong turns, but part of me blames the bell boy for giving me bad directions to the address I gave him. I wish that I was someone who could take it in stride. I wanted to feel totally independent and instead I feel like I failed.

I got hung up on wishing that when I booked my flight several months ago, I had advertised to my friends that I was coming out here . . . It would be nice to have someone to spend my evenings with, and Yenn would have most likely been able to.

Thing that's bothering me the most is that independence thing: Just a few days ago I was in a canoe that flipped over in the Colorado River. It absolutely terrified me, but I got myself out of the water without any help. It felt amazing! 

I wanted that feeling back. 

To beginnings, as well as to the end

My last day of class was yesterday. I am relieved about all the pressure that has been lifted suddenly (though I am still finishing up an essay and have one more assignment to post - both of these things are enjoyable for me). 

I've decided to take a 6 month hiatus from school.  This decision feels good, but it also makes me slightly nervous. I know I will go back for more; having the degree is too important to me not to go. I also know it doesn't matter how long it takes. I'm only 23 years old, I have the rest of my life to learn, but the critic is whispering that even though it feels good, it's bad.  It's not good enough, it's what quitters do. I'm a fool for giving up - I should stay in school until I get good at it. 

She also tells me that I won't actually do the writing that I want to do for myself over the next several months - she's setting me up to feel guilty for something new. My life wouldn't seem to be complete without overwhelming guilt about something.

My compulsions have their own compulsions and if left unsupervised, I'm likely to eat the entire house down, so I'm packing up my stuff and heading to Goblin Valley with some of my people. I hope the time away will help me figure what I'm actually eating, because it's not just a bag of potato chips.

The interesting thing is that this doesn't feel like the pit. It feels like I'm on the surface and a storm is raging on over my head. I've been really angry on and off for the last few days. Angry about food, angry about my childhood,  angry. It's kind of nice to not be sad anymore. I feel like in my life I've been served some emotional injustices and I'm SO GLAD to see that they weren't my fault.