The Pilot

I'm not quite sure what to write here. In fact, I've never been arrogant enough to immortalize my thoughts in digital form. After all, I talk an awful lot and often about absolutely nothing, so when I was coarsed--and when I say coarsed, I mean that when I suggested my innovative idea (yeah right. Maybe in 1992) for a blog and was received with mildly enthused "oh there's an idea" or "I wouldn't mind skimming it," I took that to mean "let me give you a $150,000 advance on your future book, chronicling your European excapades!" Needless to say, if any of my future "fans" fall behind on their subscriptions, I'll understand.

Anyway, I am sitting here still in Minnesota procrastinating all things packing. I am also trying my hardest to turn a blind eye to my mom's laundry list of "Things to Worry About While Traveling Alone." Sorry, mom, I know that you'll be reading this, but don't be offended. What can I say, I'm a last-minuter. I'll probably regret it in the future and then you can say "I told you so," but until that day, I'll probably still leave things to fate.

As I said earlier, I'm really unsure of what to write here. Of course, I could describe my pre-departure feelings, but I'd gag if this turned into something even remotely reminiscent of a pre-teen angst novel. This doesn't mean that I won't over-dramatize close to every awkward, embarrassing, or uncomfortable momemt that crosses me because it's inevitable that I will. It does mean, however, that if I pull a Dorothy and type the words "there's no place like home," dig up some dirt and frame me as a felon (go easy, though. I'm too soft for hard time).

The bottom line is, I only have three and a half months for an opportunity like this. Don't let me waste it.