transit zone I love you so

This morning my Algebra professor gave me the okay to take my final two days earlier than planned.

What does this mean? It means I’ll be hitting the road two days earlier than what I previously believed. It means in five days I’m out of this town. It means I have officially entered transit-zone. Transit-zone is my addiction. Transit-zone is the place where I soar. Transit-zone is my favorite mental state to be.

It is a rush of euphoria. A complete consuming fleeting feeling of freedom that without fail always sets me spinning into glee prior to a heavy bout of traveling or a move. Transit-zone is my bliss. Transit-zone is the reason I always find an excuse to go.

And it’s all because of the joviality mania it instills in me. God, why is this feeling so good? Now that it has officially hit me that my little car will be stuffed with my life’s worth come Tuesday and I’ll be weaving out of this thick fog of a county and I’ll be moving moving moving driving driving driving “IN TRANSIT” for TWO WEEKS (not technically but I won’t be at my “final destination” of Colorado Springs until late May so mentally I’ll be “in transit”) I keep breaking out into a lunatic smirk which is convincing my fellow CR students (who won’t be fellow students after next week cause I’M OUT OF HUMBOLDT FOR EVER BABY) that I’m a total creep.

A switch snapped on as soon as my professor spoke the words, “Of course! No problem! You can take it with my Tuesday group.” But it’s so silly. So ridiculous. It’s only TWO DAYS EARLIER! Why is this mentally setting me off into such a spin? Why am I so eager, so thrilled, so utterly crazed by the realization that I’ll be on the road two days earlier then previously planned? I don’t detest Humboldt that deeply. Yes, I’m happy to leave. No, it’s not a place I’d choose to live long term. But two days two days two days two days sooner is just so absolutely lovely.

I feel like I’m typing idiotically right now.


(Kenny won’t be chauffeuring me this time and the Trooper is no longer so dirty and I won’t be passing through Socorro, New Mexico and it’s no longer February 2010, but I’ve abused every other car photo I have and I can’t stand not posting a photo so this photo it is.)

I haven’t been this happy since January. I haven’t been this happy since the transit-zone that came from moving here. Actually. No. I’m lying right now. Totally lying. I was never excited about moving to Humboldt, never truly “happy”. I told people I was enthused so they wouldn’t question my reasons for the move, but I knew from the get-go that this place wasn’t for me. I knew I would treading stormy mental seas, that I’d be leaving come spring. In the late days of December my dad asked me, “Aren’t you thrilled? Going up to Humboldt in just a few weeks! Isn’t it exciting?” And I remember I shrugged, continued peeling my carrots, and said, “Eh. Not really.”

So why DID I move here? I still don’t know exactly, but I am definitely glad I did. I guess I was simply compelled to make the leap. Something drew me in, and in my gut I knew it was the right choice, so I did it. I like new experiences. I like meeting new people. I like throwing myself into foreign environments and seeing how I eventually come out. And you know, I think I’ll have a better grasp on the specifics of the “why” question later on. I think I had to come here to get to where I’ll go next. I can doubtlessly say that Humboldt County has impacted me in some internal irrevocable way.

What I was getting at before, my current happiness, my transit-zone hysterical glee… I haven’t been this happy since January 2010 in the days prior to moving to Colorado Springs. Perhaps this is what is feeding my present frenzy — the realization that Tuesday’s departure will lead to my eventual arrival to the number one place I want to be. Thinking about it now, Colorado Springs is the one place that quieted my need to “leave”. Yes, the urge to wander was still obviously there (that’s why I moved after 8 months: so I could backpack in Europe for a few weeks), but the contentment the mountains gave me was quite possibly superior to the extreme swings of transit-zone pounds in me.


Point is: I’m happy. I’m moving again. This semester is nearly over. I succeeded. I made it through. And very, very soon I’ll be pressing a boot toe to my Mini’s gas pedal with a thermos of coffee in the drink holder with music pumping away my fatigue and I’ll be even MORE happy. Because if there’s one thing I know about me, it’s my adoration for wandering at high speeds.

Is it Tuesday yet?