I’m freaking out, man.
I leave in three days. I have yet to pack up my room in Brooklyn, pack up my backpack (this itsy-bitsy 40L pack is making this a struggle), or unpack all my emotions into comprehensible words.
I have SO MUCH STUFF. No one needs as much clothing as I have. Even though I gave away three big trash bags full when I moved a month ago, I still have two complete wardrobes—one at my boyfriend’s house in the East Village, and one at mine in Greenpoint. I have oodles of purses (despite my collection being stolen during a move in Bushwick last year). I have more cosmetic products than a Walgreens, and more shoes than Imelda Marcos.
I still need to download books to my new iPad, find my travel sewing kit, sell my bike, donate another few bags of stuff, and pick up the photos I printed (it’s nicer to hand someone a pic of your family than your iPhone). I’m not sure what to give my boyfriend as a going away gift. I still can’t decide what sort of jacket to bring.
All my Amazon purchases have arrived safely. My dad sent me a bunch of genealogical info about the McCourts who came from Ireland. I have poured over a few paper guidebooks and every single travel blog on the Internet. I downloaded all the top-rated free travel apps. I tested out my towel.
It’s exhilarating and terrifying to know that in a week I’ll be in Israel, and in three weeks, I’ll be….somewhere in Europe.