Saturday, February 27, 2016

I Have.

I have my dream job.
I have a kitten who loves me.
I have bookshelves full of books.
I have tea in my favourite mug.
I have a budding not-quite-yet-relationship right in that phase when you can't get enough of each other.

And I want to run away.

It's a disease, really. I picture what my life might look like in Auckland. Or Prague. Or Montreal. I've grown happy with the bittersweet feeling of constant movement. Leaving loved ones behind and shedding layers of myself to start all over. It's an awful feeling, and a wonderfully free feeling. 
I miss it so much.

I'm starting to get itchy. Which is a very bad thing. Usually, around this six-month mark, I'm starting to plan my next move (literally, my next physical move to a new city/country/continent). This time around, I'm not. For all of the reasons mentioned above.
Instead, I'm planning a trip. No permanent move, but an adventure nonetheless. It's a wonderfully exciting, once-in-a-lifetime kind of vacation, but yet only a vacation. It feels like adventure lite -- a nicotine patch, a pale shade of my real craving to start over yet again.

After twelve days of adventure, I will return right back here. It's something of a first for me, and I feel that this is a hurdle I need to get over. That one-year mark (see number twenty-one) feels so far away.
I really want to get there.

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