Hours to my flight, I mean.
I am way too high for how sober I actually am, right now. Adrenaline – from both anticipation and lack of sleep – is kicking in embarrassingly hard and I made the completely arbitrary decision not to sleep um, sometime last night. Something about beating jet lag!
In any case, the litany running through my head at the moment: bear bear bear bear bear bear bear !!!
That is one big bear.
I surprised myself by finishing my packing at 11 pm – and it only took me around five hours in total, including hand-pumping out the air in my vacuum bags. My mom berated me for being stupid when I told her I actually used the hand pump. I feel guilty for bringing along what I feel to be an inordinately large amount of possessions. I’m sure I don’t actually need a third of them, and my term lasts eight weeks.
I don’t know how I feel about all of this. I am far too incoherent for this post to be worth reading at all. This is the beginning of the end (of my childhood) and the end of my beginning (as a teenager) and all of the in-betweens, the middles and the quarter-marks and the almost-theres, and it’s like playing the glass half-full / half-empty game.
- Half-full: the people I love are all around the world and that means everything and nothing simultaneously.
- Half empty: the people I love are all around the world and that means everything and nothing simultaneously.
This is not the heady, tentative thrill of the first step into the wild but the dulling roar of acceleration down the indistinct path into the noise of the bushes, and and and I like to think this is not a summer tourist’s toe dip into the chilly ocean depths but a resident’s healthy and fearful respect for all its leashed, rumbling power.
I will return with clearer words. Suffice it to say that it is 1.20 am, my flight leaves at 9.05 am, and I will be in Heathrow in less than 24 hours, and I only slept 3 hours last night.