Anticipation is a strange thing.
I'm trying to break down the logistics of what lies ahead in my mind and I'm having a hard time reconciling my expectations and the reality. The reality is that on Saturday I'm getting on a plane for the US and I'm going to be spending two and a half months doing something I've never done before. This should be scary but it isn't, quite.
American Summer Camps mean different things to two key demographics. To the Americans, (I'm assuming, seeing as I haven't actually spoken to one yet regarding the subject, but I'm drawing upon what I've been told/read), it's part of their culture, it's something they do and they consider it a fairly important part of growing up. To the other demographic I'm counting, i.e. the thousands of people who fly out to the States every summer from all over the world, it's a unique opportunity to take part in and contribute to something that they've invariably seen on the telly or read about somewhere. The reputation of Summer Camps precedes them; everyone has some kind of idea about what their like (I'm sure Adams Family Values has a lot to answer for - I saw that again recently, it may have been a mistake). Apart from anything else it's just an accepted part of "what students do", along with half-inching trolleys, road trips etc.. For some strange reason the idea of going abroad and doing something as barmy and stressful as looking after kids for a Summer seems appealing, and I'm not just being sarcastic, I do genuinely believe it sounds appealing. I think it may have something to do with the Number X of Important Things You Should Do Before You Die factor.
Cynical running commentary aside I'm really looking forward to it. It's strange, I have all these assumptions about what it might be like, what it's probably like and then there's the part of me reserved for the unexpected. I know it's not going to be like what I think it's going to be like. The first time I looked at the videos on the Camp website scared me witless - I couldn't believe that these people I hadn't met yet all existed in a strange bubble, it was a bit too much like glimpsing into an alien future, it was very uncomfortable yet strangely thrilling at the same time.
Logistically speaking there's not much left to do now and that feels a bit scary - surely I've forgotten something. I have a friend who likes lists and I seem to have caught the bug - with so much stuff to organise all at once there simply isn't enough room in my brain, and there's nothing more satisfying than ticking off something on a list. Apart from anything else there are the things I hadn't quite considered until recently regarding what's going to happen to my life where I am now. After all, I may be away for up to three months, that's a fairly long time. My bedroom, for example, is a complete mess and it needs to be sorted while I'm away - guess what I'm doing tomorrow. Then there's the small matter of an exhibition that needs to be brought down on Tuesday, clothes and stuff need to be bought on wednesday - thursday will probably involve more tidying and Friday... I'm not sure I can think that far ahead. I know exactly what's happening on the weekend though. More travelling than I have ever done. Ever.
There's also the small matter of what exactly I'm going to do when I come back, but there's no point in worrying about that now. I wonder whether I'm giving the impression of being a bit neurotic.
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