I feel the weight of my own heart, my flawed and possibly misguided gypsy heart, too heavy right now, the magnitude of my decisions dragging like an anchor.
Several days ago I had a crisis of faith, where an evening of writer's block spurred on a full-blown attack of self-doubt - the "Dear god, am I absolutely insane to have done this?" flavor of self-doubt. I've managed to avoid this flavor in any significant dosage so far, which is surprising, because it should theoretically, and according to many others, be my bread and butter these days. But this is when it caught up with me, halfway through truck school, in the airlock between where I've been and where I'm going.
In a grasp for assuredness, I called my future employer the next day and set up my start date - April 14, a week after I finish school (more on this later). I made the call after getting home from class, and hung up the phone in the stillness of the afternoon, alone in the house, and sat listening to my own breath for a few minutes. Then I went out and scrubbed my car clean, and went grocery shopping to fill my mind with the home-cooked meals I will no longer be able to make on the road.
Walked out of the store in twilight, gulping down the promises of springtime air. In the softness of gathering dark I could feel my heart breaking; worse yet, I could feel someone else's heart breaking along with mine, and I dreaded telling him the finality of my departure date.
The actual in-person breaking of news was too painful to discuss. In the quiet following the tears, I can feel the weight gathering around me, and I know it's here to stay. There are consequences of falling in love with a gypsy heart. Please forgive me for breaking yours along with my own.