I'm not there.....

The title for this blog comes from the movie about Dylan, (Bob that is, from the great city of Cloquet, MN or really is it Hibbing. Minnesota nonetheless.) that I tried (and failed) to see in uptown an embarrassing number of times. The premise, for those of you unfamiliar with this indie flick (which I have incidentally still not seen), is that several actors portray Dylan at different stages in his life, including the late Heath Ledger and Cate Blanchett (Oscar nod) as well as a young black boy. If you squint I guess you can sometimes look at these actors and see how well they portray the idea of Dylan, but he's "not there."

This is how I'm beginning to feel about myself.

Despite my best efforts, in some ways I am a woman without a place. I've got one foot almost in the door of Botswana and one not quite leaving the door of Minneapolis. During my hospice training last spring, there was extended conversation about "the place between" life and death, where people on their deathbed would have visions and conversations with people who were already dead. It is an interesting psychology of transition I am learning right now, everything is so between. I feel the most clarity and confusion. the most happiness and melancholy. I feel the sharpest I've ever been and the most scattered. ALL AT ONCE. I feel excitement and dread and fear and anticipation and everything and nothing. I feel numb and yet, overfilled with emotion, as though I'm walking around the world with both a slow leak and a gushing waterfall, whilst filled with the pressure of an overripe tomato.


I'm not quite here and not quite there, so where does that leave me?

The other day I met K-train on the sidewalk in front of the house. I was walking to the busstop, she was walking O-dog, and I called out to her. We chatted for a brief minute as we walked the few feet past my house to hers and she turned to me and said, "I can't imagine being happier to see anyone walking down this street toward me." I made a lame joke and we parted ways. I got on the bus, and couldn't read- no surprise-, it's been weeks since I could hone in on anything more stimulating than a People magazine- but looked at the passing city and it's busy inhabitants as though someone had just resealed the flaps on my corneas after my lasik. Everything was beautifully clear and somewhat tragic, and I sort of wanted to cry as I had after I woke up and could clearly see the alarm clock for the first time. It seems things nearly always seem this way when you're looking at them wistfully.

I'm hesitant to meet new people for the fact that I'll immediately have to leave them, and I'm wary of connecting with old friends for the stress and emotion of the goodbyes, which I'm incidentally sometimes lacking (-see above re: emotional numbness) I usually don't want to talk about the Peace Corps at all now as it takes too much out of me to be catching people up to speed. Fine thanks and how are you? I have a deeply intensified interest in talking about other people's anything, if it can help me avoid getting into myself and the inevitable dramatic conversations that ensue, or even talk about "areyouexcitedareyounervous?" conversation which I stare like a deer in the headlights. (in case anyone was wondering the answer to both is yes, in addition to nervous scared and slightly sick to my stomach at times...)

I’m on the verge, at the cliff, on the edge, at the precipice, wanting to jump, wanting desperately to jump, and yet realizing more than ever what this means in terms of the solid (?) ground I’m jumping off of.