I’ve been quiet these past few days because I’m fighting an unexpected spike in my mental fever.
The spike came out of left field. And in general, I wasn’t prepared at all for this fever from within the depths of myself.
Since my husband’s U.S. permanent residency application was approved, I’ve been fighting this mental fever of complete and total impatience.
I want this new chapter, this new phase of my life to start with my husband in the U.S. right now. I want us to start to create a little home, along with our two cats, this very minute.
The next step will arrive. I’m quite aware of that fact on a rational level. We’re talking a visit in the next few weeks and then his permanent move in January. There’s just simply things that we need to wrap up. Cats to move. Cash to raise. Gigs to get.
But when I got back to Oakland from my husband’s U.S. permanent residency appointment, and the reality of our good news started to sink in, I snapped.
I snapped right in the center of myself.
The snap was like when a bone breaks on an arm or leg. A piece just dangles.
And that part of myself, that part of myself that never allowed me in the past to dwell in the Land of Yes?
That part is now screaming, “I WILL NOT WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE MORE” at the top of its lungs.
Yup, I’m like a toddler that throws itself down in the middle of the candy aisle at the supermarket.
Not attractive when you’re a toddler. And definitely not attractive when you’re 43.
And while my impatience is filed under, “A Good Problem To Have” and is also full of a whole lot of privileges, I name my impatience here publicly because I’m exhausted by my toddler-ness.
This spike will go down. The overall fever will pass.