[This post is late because I didn't have sufficient internet access until about two hours ago, because airports aren't known for their internet, and I finally got to sit down...]
How is it that I can be sitting in a TGI Fridays in the Dallas/Fort Worth airport, and I’m still less nervous than I am whenever I visit my mother? I’m not nervous. I’m not overly excited, and I’m not huddling in a corner somewhere (and I’ve only taken my anti-anxiety meds once). No, I’m just having dinner, drinking a hard cider, and watching sportsball while I wait for my 9:30 flight to Heathrow.
You know what I’m stressing out about right now? This blog post. Because the truth is boring and there is no easy way to say “I feel nothing.” It’s not because I’m not thrilled to be going to London, don’t get me wrong—it’s just that I guess I don’t have much in the way of expectations. I decided a long time ago to leave all of that behind. It’s like I’m not studying in London—I’m just moving somewhere else, and moving somewhere new isn’t new.
Of course, I say this after having been on an emotional roller coaster from Hades for the past week.
Either way, I expect tomorrow to be hectic, stressful, and fabulous.
And I really want to see this thing:
Now if only my knee had gotten the “only pack what you can carry” memo….