This has never before happened in the history of being me: I am ready to go. I could be out of this apartment and on the train to the airport in five minutes. My flight, however, is not until tomorrow. Which is a bit of a problem, actually. One would think that being ready in advance would be terribly convenient, but in fact it's annoying. I would rather be scrambling right up until I'm late to the airport. It gives me less time to think.
I have so little sense of what Vietnam will be like that I have trouble believing that I will actually get there. I felt this same way about Kenya, almost ten years ago. I just could not imagine what Kenya might be like. I could not picture myself there. Now it is Vietnam, but ten years on I am slightly more accustomed to plopping down in utterly new places. I am almost more accustomed to being on my own in a new country than I am at being picked up at the airport. Mostly in Africa and Central America, of course, but surely the self-sufficiency is translatable.
I still can't imagine it, even though it will be real in 36 hours.
Meanwhile, I sit here twiddling my thumbs, worrying, fretting. I could make some effort to get out of the apartment - I sent off one text message that has not resulted in plans - but it's hard to imagine what I might do 14 hours before I'm due at the airport. I have already all-but-fully packed. I have cleaned. I have made the phone calls I've been putting off. I have answered the emails. I have downloaded the pictures. I have charged the electronics. What more is there?
Remind me never to be ready for a trip early ever again. It's not worth it. It's just a license for nerves.
I have so little sense of what Vietnam will be like that I have trouble believing that I will actually get there. I felt this same way about Kenya, almost ten years ago. I just could not imagine what Kenya might be like. I could not picture myself there. Now it is Vietnam, but ten years on I am slightly more accustomed to plopping down in utterly new places. I am almost more accustomed to being on my own in a new country than I am at being picked up at the airport. Mostly in Africa and Central America, of course, but surely the self-sufficiency is translatable.
I still can't imagine it, even though it will be real in 36 hours.
Meanwhile, I sit here twiddling my thumbs, worrying, fretting. I could make some effort to get out of the apartment - I sent off one text message that has not resulted in plans - but it's hard to imagine what I might do 14 hours before I'm due at the airport. I have already all-but-fully packed. I have cleaned. I have made the phone calls I've been putting off. I have answered the emails. I have downloaded the pictures. I have charged the electronics. What more is there?
Remind me never to be ready for a trip early ever again. It's not worth it. It's just a license for nerves.
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