Gottagetout

Do you ever feel like you're staring directly into the stone eyes of a looming wrecking ball?
I get the sense lately that I am clinging tightly to something I know to be entirely temporary. If the last few years have shown me anything, it's that it is in my personality to crave impermanence of some sort. I tend to gravitate towards things I know for a fact can not last. Summer-only jobs, disposable cameras, various boys...etc. Seasonal life is just that. Seasonal. Waxing and waning and never static. Tourist worlds are built on people who always, always leave, which means a tourist world can never really feel the same one day as it might the next. It seems like a perfect fit, right? But somehow, my commitment-phobic, restless, gottagetouttahere self has managed to make seasonal life, among the most transient of lifestyles, permanent. How the hell did that happen? As magic tricks go, it's one of the best I have been witness to...the magician doesn't even know the secret.
And somewhere, something in me is holding on. This is clear, as I have officially been at Maho a year and a half longer than I planned. But holding on is not really an option anymore, and the looming wrecking ball is also the light at the end of the tunnel. I did what I swore I wouldn't do: I got attached to a place. I settled in. I have even gone online looking for furniture and curtains so I can adorn my tent the way I like it. Effing curtains! I refuse to live in a place long enough to want curtains. As soon as I leave here, I am going to settle back into not settling in.
I've got one year left. One year of the kind of stability that I don't have any desire to continue with. And then I get to live. A bit scared and totally alone and happy, just the way I like it. I get to close my eyes and point at a map and figure out what's next. Hop in my car, maybe hoping that it will break down somewhere beautiful, and then leave again when I am done there. All I need is a backpack and my iPod. And no. Effing. Curtains.