So it's completely and utterly official. I've got my ticket, I've started packing, and I'm totally scared shitless. Let me just tell you folks, I am not a fan of stepping out of my comfort zone. I cherish my comfy personal bubble of confidence and security. I mean don't get me wrong here I am still very excited about the move and the positive life changes I'm making. I'm still happy and proud that I'm taking the necessary steps to reach my goals and pursue my dreams, but either way I know I'm going to be plagued with symptoms of homesickness. I don't know how long it will hurt, but I know things will be better once my love returns. Happy face. You see the plan is that he will fly out with me initially, spend about a week of precious quality time together while he helps me get settled in, then he leaves. Sadface. Sadface. Sadface. Good thing is that I'll only be hardcore suffering for a little less than a month. Hopefully even less than that, because I'm going to try and save up money for a plane ticket for my sister to come out and spend a week with me before I fly back for Christmas. I'll probably just stay and visit home until New Year's — I'm not sure if we'll ring in the new year in San Diego or New York, but either way when I return home (eeeep! NY is going to be my home!) my man will be coming with me.
Then things won’t be bad at all. Ugh I swear this whole thing was about me celebrating my independence and living my dream. Instead I'm worrying about homesickness and thinking that everything will be okay once he's there. But it's the truth. Whatever, to each their own. This move is going to set some records for us, but time flies, and soon, so will I.