T-minus 20 Hours

This past week has been a roller coaster of emotions, sounds dramatic and cliché, mais c'est vrai. To aid in my ebbs and flows between dismay and ecstasy, my wonderful roommate organized a surprise farewell lunch at a local crepe cafe.

She insisted that we go on Saturday morning, wanting one last girls' day before I leave. Upon arrival, before getting food (very odd for us, we love food), she pulled me into the back room, insisting that we find a table. To my pleasant surprise, two of our good friends were sitting in the corner and we all rushed into discombobulated hugs. The kinds of hugs where everyone bobbles their heads to avoid collision, arms get stuck in hugs that shouldn't be part of that particular hug, and incoherent squeals of mushy-gooey girl talk spring forth from all of the newly applied lip glosses. After ordering we caught up and they gave me some presents :)

~A bottle of actual champagne, from Champagne. We will drink it when I get back, considering I do NOT want to be hungover when facing a 26 hour travel period.
~A beautiful single set of towels, a tea glass, and a pretty, smelly-good-thing.

Four girls + crepes + coffee + knowing I won't see them for months = 5 hours of gabbing at the cafe.

Now on the eve of my great voyage I am a complete mess! I woke up later than usual and had tea, watched a few episodes of season 2 True Blood, and paced. While trying to tie up loose ends, I discovered that the student web site that I used to buy my one-way ticket to Paris months ago, only books flights from US airports. Grr.

So after a few minutes of panic, I remembered reading that STA Travel was owned by a British company first, so I typed a jumbled phrase of these words into Google, and voilà, I was saved. I found a flight from London back to Texas for cheaper than my ticket to France. My debit card company is probably freaking out that UK GBPs were charged to my card, but in my defense, I warned them that I am leaving this week.

With this disaster averted, I then had nothing to do but pace. Pack. Unpack. Repack. Basically go crazy.

Solution? Go to Starbucks and get a bacon artisan sandwich and peppermint mocha. Meet the fiancé at the gym. Run 2 miles. Come home and repack all over again.

My emotions feel like a storm cloud that emerges suddenly and harshly. Without warning, mind you. I had a few weepy days last week, but now the excitement is mixing with the sadness of leaving my family, which consists of my fiancé and our roommates. Beloved professors, friends I've had for years, and my biological family are all going to be well missed.

I am also fearful of a few things:
1.) I will get lost, regardless of my decent sense of direction, self-doubt will ensue and I will inevitably hop onto the wrong train.
2.) Normal airport fears, and considering I've never been in an airport, we'll chalk that fear list up to a giant cocoon of explosive, scary madness. (Moscow airport bombing today does not help these fears)
3.) French people speak French. Regardless of my 5 years of studying the language, I know that I will sound like a bumbling idiot for a few weeks.
4.) My bed will be a rock. Sleep does not happen on rocks. Ever.
5.) Inevitably, the apartment will eat something that I desperately need in the morning.

So with my mind a beehive set abuzzing, I excitedly contemplate that the next time this blog will be updated, I will be doing it from my new home!

Bonne nuit à tous