The Mysterious Stranger and I sat side by sat in a bar last night and realized that our approach towards travel is the same as our approach to the rest of life. We both tend to overplan for the things we can't control and neglect what we can, like how he went to Australia in December with sweaters and heavy jackets or how I always manage to leave the house without bell, book, and candle.
This tendency is the exact reason that TMS never sticks in one place more than six months, and the reason that he only reappears on my voice mail about four times a year. Life always happens opposite from how he'd planned.
I have started packing, determined not to forget a thing this time. I am scared out of my (admittedly loosely held together) wits, but I'm always scared of something. I need to find something to read that will balance out my Proust--love him though I do, I cannot read him for a whole twelve hour flight. Anyone have a suggestion?
And hey, anyone have some free time in the early afternoon of the 22nd? Want to come fetch a poor, travel-weary girl from the airport? I'll be your best friend.
At this point I'm feeling that the best part of this trip will be the fact that everyone will have to quit it with the, "Maybe you'll meet a nice Chinese guy and come back married!" Honestly. Is this a common problem? Is marriage contagious in China? Is it an exit requirement that no one has told me about? I do not understand why people hustle me to get married in the same breath that they applaud me for being a single girl. People freak me out. At least over there I don't speak the language.
It is nine million degrees in my apartment again, not at all helped by the fact that I am baking blueberry coffee cake muffins for my team. Earlier, jubilant that I could finally do my laundry, I may have sprained my toe. And then, just a bit ago, I took a great big swallow of sour milk. It's like a constant Laurel and Hardy episode, hereabouts.