For those concerned, I have 9 days and 23 hours until takeoff.

There comes a point when you start to pack for a trip that you cannot pack anything more.

For example, are you going to pack your pillow? If yes, then what are you going to sleep on for the next three nights? How about your toothbrush? and contact solution? and fluffy bunny slippers?

Yes, I have gotten to that point. Before reaching the state in which I am now stuck, I had rolled every long sleeved plain shirt, tank top and every pair of black pants I own into the most minute little ball of cotton or silk known to mankind. I had raided the medicine chest for bottles of fix-it-all ointment and vitamins up the wazoo. I have rope, clothespins, ace bandages, frying pans and conversion charts. I have recipes, socks, new underwear and a teddy bear. I have silk dresses, cotton tank tops, blankets and earbuds. I have an industrial sized bottle of hand sanitizer that I can guarantee will be gone within 3 months’ time.

What I don’t have is a lot of time, the support of key people in my life and the knowledge that will get me from point A to point B. However, because I have enough scarves to sink a small battleship, the companionship of Molly DesRoches and a couple amazing women picking Molly and me up at the train station, I should be fine.

Besides, a little adventure never killed anyone. It just caused their French-speaking skills to be greatly challenged. Bring it on, world.

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