It is a strange sensation, being 2000 miles away from where you want to be at the moment.  2000 miles away from your method of income, your personal space.  Knowing you can’t leave yet.  There’s a helplessness.

I’ve been ready to leave for a couple of weeks, but here I am, still in Dubuque, Iowa.  Leaving soon, but that doesn’t really ease the ache I’ve had for weeks, the desire to start driving from apartment building to apartment building, choosing my new home.  I want to open my storage unit and unpack my boxes.  I want to decorate my living space.  I want to be making money.

I get into these phases of nesting – I’m in one now and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it, because I’m nowhere near the place I intend on settling.  My wandering bug is nipping, needing me to be home so it can hibernate for a season or two.

I have dreams of apartments, of walls being painted, of shopping at Ikea.  I want to put my clothes in a closet and a bureau, not in a bag any longer.

But I have to put that on hold for another week or two.  Longer, depending on how long it takes me to find a place to live.  Which is frustrating, but it can be done.  Even leaving here, getting in the car and going, will satisfy some of that urge, make me appreciate that I’m progressing towards what I want.

I have calls to make and directions to copy down.  Things to do to prepare.  I pour my energy into these tasks.  Soon I’ll be on the road.

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