“Takeoff,” I say, as if I’m going to space instead of just an 8 hour flight to Glasgow.
Although I would like the record to note that I do want to be one of the first people to go on a Mars colonization mission.
One week until my plane leaves for Scotland. I won’t be back in America until early June at the earliest, mid-August at the latest. (Unless something horrible happens. Please God let nothing horrible happen.)
It hit me the other day that I’m actually going to be gone. I was getting frozen yogurt with my little cousin and I realized that the next time I see her she’ll be almost 9. And my other cousin, he’ll be 11 by the time I get back, there’s a good chance he’ll be taller than me. I’m not even short.
I also had a bad dream last night about my transit to Glasgow. Well, not as bad as bad dreams go, but it was extremely anxiety-inducing. I’m on my train to Scotland (from America…this is a dream, remember), and halfway through the trip I realize that I left all my luggage at home. I ask the nice train manager, Sally Fields, to let me off so I can go back, but it’s not possible to stop a train in the middle of the Atlantic.
So I woke up stressed out with the extreme desire to start packing. I should probably start with making a list.
I hope everyone is having a very happy holidays! I’m leaving for my grandma’s soon, for the second day in a row, to eat leftovers and celebrate my aunt’s birthday. This’ll be the third day in a row that I’ve seen these people. Good thing I like them.