My trip to Arizona has come and gone.
Inasmuch as I was able to spend copious amounts of quality time with my immediate family, I’d say it was a smashing success. Also, Poor Kyle even admitted to starting to miss me by the end of it, so that was a bonus.
The good and also bad news is that in T-3 days I will be BACK in the car to drive BACK to Calgary to get BACK on a plane to get BACK on another plane to finally land in Paris.
This is good for obvious reasons, but bad because I’ll’ve only been home for one week in the interim and to be quite frank (don’t call me Frank), I’m exhausted.
Don’t worry though. This is not one of those whiny posts where all these great things are happening to me but I’m still not happy (I hate those kinds, the kinds where people have waited twelve years to get pregnant and then they find out they’re having a boy instead of a girl and woe is freaking them blah blah).
Nay nay, I am quite happy. Just tired is all—but not too tired to understand that what I’m about to do, the trip on which I am about to embark, may very well be the last great hurrah of my twenties.
Or perhaps my life?
No matter, the fact remains: I am extremely lucky, unbelievably blessed, and I know it. I recognise it daily. I am tired, yes, but I have rallied to the call and have been packing my one small suitcase (carrying on only for 2.5 weeks in Europe, can I get a woot woot) in my head these long months.
This is the trip that got me through the last two semesters. It didn’t abandon me when I needed something to live for, and I won’t abandon it for anything, least of all a few gut-wrenching yawns.
Paris: I’ll see you there.
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