I am writing this in an airport food court after taking a red eye flight and it's 4:30 a.m. my time so I'm probably extra sensitive to the sheer weirdness around me.
A few questions are circulating in my mind.
How are people eating Papa Johns at 8 am? And since when does Burger King serve breakfast? Why did I just give nearly an hour of pay for a Starbucks small breakfast wrap and a coffee?
I'm a little irritated and a lot tired so I'm not exactly writing this as a glass half full kind of girl.
Here's what has happened in the past 24 hours:
Lizzie's birthday dinner and me crying at our mom's home as I realized I was leaving.
Birthday cake and my mom crying (causing me to cry) because she realized I was leaving.
Movie and crying. Packing and crying. Second servings of birthday cake so I stop crying.
The crying eventually subsided as I realized I was going. I had a ticket. A suitcase. Passport and Visa. I was going and everything would be okay.
But before it would be okay I would have to say goodbye and get to the airport. Let me give you a replay:
Lizzie decided she would take me to the airport for my red-eye flight. But before that we had to get my giant, double my width, taking-all-my-strength suitcase down our apartment stairs. 50 pounds is the limit for a checked suitcase and I knew that mine was too big. But I was going away for five months! I needed one and then a copy of everything. I needed 100 developed photos and frames. I couldn't narrow down what books I wanted to bring- so hey, why not just pack the top ten heaviest I own?
Lizzie decided she wouldn't help me with my bags because "you'll have to carry them by yourself later anyways". So I took my bag down two flights of stairs and put it in her car, and I swear her car bounced up and down like I had just installed hydraulics.