Rising out of the Fog

I know what I have to do and it scares the hell out of me. I've started over many times before and this time, instead of facing it head on, brash, and with a half made plan, I'm carefully analyzing every detail, every potential outcome, and I just don't see how any good long term effects are going to come.

The main reason I'm moving to Denver, is to spend more time with my grandma and uncle before they pass. I found out yesterday that my grandma intends to sell her house, a house I've only visited a handful of times in my life, to go live in a retirement community. Its one of the saddest things I've ever heard. I understand that its for the best, and I applaud her for being clear minded enough to know that she's going to need the additional assistance. I think I'm mostly just sad for me, and that this whole family that I've never really had the opportunity to know, is dying by inches.

My father died two years ago. I'd love to write about it, and perhaps I will another day. I'm at work right now, and I don't want to start crying. Again.

Part of me is excited about this move. Out of all the places I had considered, Denver was never one of them, because I always felt like I didn't particularly like it. But then, I haven't spent a lot of time there, either. As I wandered down the city streets this spring, while visiting my cousin, I tried to see myself hiking the mountains, shopping in the shops, finding new interesting places to hang out. I tried to imagine what my new friends might look like, where they might come from. I tried imagining going to the university downtown, living near City Park, and generally being happy. I tried and I couldn't.

I need a job. I need to enroll myself into college. I need my own apartment. I  need a car. I need to learn to drive. (I feel guilty about saying I need a car, what with the Gulf of Mexico fiasco and all. But its the truth.) I need a plane ticket. I need as much money as I can muster so I can get all those things.

I'm worried about everything, it seems. I'm worried about my family becoming sicker the longer I wait to move. I'm worried about my credit getting in the way of my housing and potentially transportation. I'm worried I won't be able to find a job once I get there. I'm worried I'll move there and still won't interact with my family. I'm worried I won't be accepted into the school I want to get into. I'm worried I won't be able to afford tuition. I'm worried my boss will be disappointed in me. I'm worried I'll move and nothing will really change. I'll use it as an excuse to eat all the time, or eat badly all the time. I'm worried I won't be able to breathe.

I'm terrified that every thing will work out according to plan. I never count on that. I wonder if that's why it never stays on course? I always plan for the worst case scenario, and build off that. I always have an idea of what a perfect scenario would be, but perfection isn't reliable, especially when its mostly fantasy.

I wish I could delay everything until December. That way I could follow through with the commitments I already have here, and wouldn't have that extra layer of guilt. Of course, then I remember my dad telling my grandma and uncle that he was going to out to Denver and take care of them. He just needed a year to get things together and do it. He died three months later.

If not me, then who? 
If not now, then when?


I'm making myself sick going over my options, trying to figure out my best course of action. I feel like a sperm trying to impregnate an egg. bouncing around, trying to find a good spot to hop in before someone else does, and the game is over. Or before time just runs out in general and the game is still over. The clock is definitely ticking.





Also, I apologize for the over use of "I" statements. I'm a pretty self involved person.
Side note number two: all the food pictured is from yesterday 06/16/10