Enter Fear, Stage Left

Well, I knew it would happen one of these days... This morning I woke up in a panic thinking "OHGOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE?!? WHAT AM I DOING?!?" I just quit my job and sold my condo and registered for a Yoga class in San Francisco. SERIOUSLY! OHMYGOD!!! What was I thinking?!? I'M GETTING OLD! I need to settle down and find a husband and this is SO NOT ME TO DO THIS! AUGH AUGH AUGH!!!!

Damn, how it just attacks like that. It's like a closet, really; Packed to the brim with all of the stuff you've shoved in there for five years. You open it just a crack to shove something else in there, but NO!!! Not today! Instead, five years of skeletons crashed down on your head. Curse it all. I wish I could go hide under the covers.

I know that I need a change, though, so why not make a big leap? San Francisco will be good, and after that? I guess we'll see! I'm going to keep in mind that being scared will get me nowhere, and use this poem as my inspiration:

To his Coy Mistress
by Andrew Marvell

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;A
nd tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Love,
G