|Light packer, extraordinaire.|
So here I am, sitting in bed (trying to get an early night to make up for the inevitable lost sleep from my overnight flight tomorrow) taking stock of my luggage. Visually, I see one large blue suitcase, one carry-on pink case, and my floral school backpack. Internally, I know that it took two days of cramming, folding, stuffing, dumping, repacking, and rolling to fit all my choice articles into my luggage. Somehow, I managed to pack for four months abroad into three bags of varying sizes.
I had to keep telling myself that laundry and toiletries are established amenities worldwide, and I didn't need to pack my own toothpaste, soap, or enough clean clothing to get me through the one hundred twenty days I'm to spend across the pond. When I get anxious, I get... crazy. Normally what I rely on is my boyfriend Jarrett's words of wisdom to bring me back to the realm of sanity but we said our goodbyes two days ago. And so, to cope without him, I have done plenty of preparation.
I've done my research on currency, taxis, subways, and getting a pay-as-you-go phone once I arrive. I've suspended my home cell account, notified my bank that I'll be in the UK, and gotten all the paperwork together to A) cross the border and B) open a local bank account. I've packed twice, double-checked with my airline that I'm within all the baggage restrictions, and have printed a copy of my travel itinerary. I've even Google-Earth'd my residence at Glasgow Caledonian, just to have something to expect when I arrive.
I seem to be split in two - between really looking forward to going to Glasgow, and really anxious and upset about leaving home. I'm sure once I've landed, unpacked, and taken a deep breath I'll feel much more settled.