My laundry is done, my bags are packed, my teeth are brushed, and my bed is waiting. There's a fluffy little bunny of a cat waiting in it for me. Xander is 17 and the single creature I love most in life, and it's breaking my heart to leave him for a week. But he's healthy (if mouthy), and we have a housesitter/petsitter who will be staying in the house for the week, and everything should be fine. I'm just going to miss the hell out of this cat. Here he is in all his adorable glory, preventing me from working with his menacing glare.
I'm finding it super hard to go to sleep - I never sleep well before I travel. Tomorrow is just a train ride to NYC, then a night hanging out with friends before we fly out on Saturday. I'm already dreading about a billion things, but really looking forward to the pool and the beach. My list of doom includes:
- Walking miles of airport on bad knees and feet
- ...while carrying a heavy laptop backpack and pulling a roller suitcase
- Fitting into an airplane seat (and worrying about whether my seatbelt extender, which I stole from United a couple of years ago, will work on a different brand of plane, so I don't have to ask for one (and be embarrassed (again))
- Will I end up sitting next to someone who's grossed out by fat people?
- Will tomorrow night's bed situation be comfortable? Unlikely, unless it's changed from the last time I stayed there.
- Will the week's bed situation be comfortable?
One of the things I hate the most about being fat is being so eternally preoccupied with my own comfort. Almost everything IS uncomfortable for me, and almost nobody but me and my dearest friends actually cares. I'm always wondering how much pain I'll be in after any given activity. 3 hours on a plane is no different. But hey - at least it's going to be bracketing days and days on a lovely white beach with blue water and days and days of absolutely NOTHING to bother my pretty little head about.
August 28 (surgery day) can't come soon enough for me.