At work, at home, there’s a fog that’s rolled over. I can’t relax. I can’t sleep. I’ve got way too much to do.
My eyes itch and my throat’s dry. I’ve got the nervous legs going (you know, the bouncy, jittery movements much like a crack addict). I have no patience. My brow is scrinched up.
I am in a world of hurt.
It’s hard to write, since it’s not what I should be doing. I have all these little bits and pieces to connect – well before I get on a plane next Wednesday for Italy. Once there, there’s nothing I can do but make the best of it.
I’m looking forward to that.
Last night, my new rolling duffel was delivered. It’s sleek, compact (and comes in a quarter-inch under the airline’s excessive baggage size. Trouble is, I test-packed the thing last night and it has to weigh like 90 pounds (empty, it weights 14, so...). Delta says keep it to 50 pounds (really 55) or pay extra. I’m seriously looking to pay extra (or do my most charming best to bullshit that bag onto the plane).
There is not a lot I can do to trim the weight. Really, I’m packing for two trips. I’m going to be living in the Italian Alps for 20 days; the town sits at like 7,000 feet in elevation and I’m covering all mountain events. That means thermal boots, ski pants, parka and synthetic layers.
It also means I’m going to need some dressy clothing for going out on the town; these clothes will follow me through a two-week vacation after the Winter Games.
What do I toss? Or do I just eat the extra charge?
My laptop is nearly finished, but other than wireless, there’s no way to connect (bummer if the paper needs to talk to me).
For the vacation portion of the trip, we don’t have a rental car booked, nor a hotel picked in Tuscany.
Who’ll water my plants at work?
The boy’s carpool fell apart this week.
Who is going to remember to scoop the cats’ litter box?
This is why, at 1:38 a.m., I woke up with a mouthful of acid reflux.
Everyone asks if I’m excited. Yeah, I’m excited. You just can’t see it through the anxiety.
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