The Waiting Room

I hate waiting.

I leave for Kazakhstan in less than a week. Right now, I am taking a break from "packing," and by that I mean not just tossing a few clothes into a suitcase but sorting through everything I own…And by "everything," I mean everything.

I had no idea I had so much junk. The worst thing is that I will throw something into my Take-to-Kazakhstan pile and then remove it five minutes later to the Give-to-Goodwill pile. Or I'll put away some of my Store-Don't-Toss things only to decide that yes, I really do want to take my copy of J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan, even though I doubt I will read it.

Packing, however, is better than doing nothing. I at least have something to do to keep my mind off the fact that I will soon be experiencing a completely new life.
Even with the distraction of packing, I still have to wait, and it is driving me crazy. I mean, honestly, I'd much rather toss a few essentials into a suitcases and show up in Almaty tomorrow than sit here and go through the endless decisions of what to take.

Having lived in Kazakhstan is a bit of a blessing. I have an idea of what to expect as in terms of the culture and what my apartment will be like. That helps. I am not so nervous about living in Kazakhstan, nor the working bit (although I am sure that will hit me like a tidal wave once I get to Kaz); no, it is just the fact that I have to wait for the rest of my life to start.

It’s like the powers that be have deigned to look down on me to say, “Well, Em, here you are, 22 years old and fresh out of college, and you’ve got a job lined up. Well done. You are an adult. Congratulations. But before you can assume you’re position in the adult world, you’ll have to wait about three months. Lucky girl, get some free time to goof off and enjoy yourself.”

Um, no, not so lucky. I’ve gotten a taste of independence and I’m hungry for more.

Just six days—less than that, now that the day is almost over.

I’ll be sick to my stomach when this new chapter begins, but for now, I’m stuck in the waiting room thumbing through magazines so old they should be in the Smithsonian.

Back to the packing and the organizing and the not-thinking about the waiting. Peter Pan’s going back on the shelf. For now, at least.