2002-09-26 - 5:25 a.m.

n twelve hours I will be departing.

I am always aghast at the amount of junk I end up packing for trips. Stuff I know full well I wonít use, but also know that if the idea strikes me to use that item while away and I donít have it I will spend the rest of the day mouring the fact that I didnít bring it. Like the obscene amount of shoes I am bringing. I am bringing shoes I have only worn once in my life, but that one time I wore them they were perfect. What if I have some outfit that only THOSE shoes will look right with? And hair stuff. Iím pretty sure I will have no need for even one thing in the gallon sized Ziplock bag I have filled with hair pins, rubber bands, headbands and so on. And the oatmeal? Eric tells me he doesnít think there is oatmeal in France so I freaked out and and bought enough oatmeal to get me through three weeks, even if I decide to eat it every morning. That takes up enough room in my suitcase that I could have brought three more pairs of unneeded shoes.

Iím doing okay with the flying thing. You see, Iíve come to the conclusion that if I am going to die I would most certainly prefer to die in a plane crash. Iíve always had this thing about what would happen to my body after I die. I know with great certainty that I donít want to be buried, because the thought of six feet of heavy dirt over my abandoned body makes me cringe and the thought of sending my embalmed body through some incinerator to be creamated makes me cringe even more. Iíve always said that I hope I just die in the middle of a field somewhere and that no one can ever find me so I just decompose. And the whole viewing the body thing at funerals makes me feel funny, I donít really want people to see me dead. I donít want some long suffering illness from which I die, I donít want to be in an accident that leaves me almost dead for months until I finally expire. No, a plane crash would be the best option, get it over with fast and donít leave a body behind. So, Iím okay with flying now. I also realized that my stupid desire to have my feet firmly planted on solid earth is rather unfounded as well. I mean, we are after all, wandering around on a giant globe that is suspended in the middle of god only knows what and hurtling through that god only knows what at a speed I cannot even fathom. So, with these thoughts in my head I go...I go to France.

When the Atlantic ocean turns into a big bowl of salty oatmeal you will know that I have plunged into the sea with my oatmeal heavy suitcases. Feel free to take any of the shoes you might find floating around in the muck, I wonít be needing them anymore, hell, I donít even need them now.

Au revoir mon amis.


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