7 Days

Did you read the title in the voice of the girl from the ring? I did when I was writing this, but only for half a second because I thought it was kind of funny but then realized that it probably isn't. But let's get to the point.

HOLY CRAP I LEAVE IN SEVEN DAYS.

Last Friday, I was at Ballast Point getting Indra Kunindra curry stout for the last time, and a week from today I'll be leaving. It still hasn't really hit me yet, mostly because I've been in my same routine that I've been in all summer with work and all that so it still feels like some distant thing, but I have been starting to have trouble falling asleep at night because I'm too excited.

I finally started packing on Wednesday, which is good. But packing also made me realize that living in San Diego has lead to me having approximately four pieces of clothing that could be considered as winter clothing, and two of those are ugly sweaters that I purchased for no reason other than that they look like something that someone would have vomited up while on acid.

It's also my last day at work, which is sad because I've had a lot of cool coworkers and a lot of fun over the past two and a half years, but I've also dealt with way too many people who don't know how to read things on websites or brochures or anything else that has basic information on it about my work. But more importantly than that, it's my last night at my bar, which I'll probably miss a little more than work. For the past 9 months (long enough to have had a baby with my bar by now!) it's been my home away from home and I've had so many good beers and friends and memories there. Who else will ever understand my never ending needs of sour beer and pineapple jalapeno pizza like them? Nobody. I might cry a little bit tonight. I don't know.

So now in this next week, I'll be finishing up my packing, eating as many burritos as humanly possible, and trying to figure out how I'll deal with my 20ish hours of transit (3 hour flight, then a 40 minute layover, then a 3 1/2 hour flight, 4 1/2 hour layover, 7 1/2 hour flight, not counting getting to the airport early for check in or waking up and getting ready or driving to LA from San Diego at 2 in the morning to get there in time for my 6:30 am flight). I don't do well with staying awake for stretches of time but I also can't sleep on airplanes. But I also don't want to be a zombie when I get to Paris and scare my host family before they even get to meet me. Oh well. Life is hard sometimes, right?





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