Can anyone be this lucky?

In this land of foreboding landscape and downtrodden blondes with perfectly straight hair cut into mullets, the rest of my life seems so far away.

Did I really teach kindergarten at a school for impoverished children in South America?

Am I seriously on my way to visit a boy I met in Argentina and then Uruguay?

Did I really waitress, serving White Zinfandel (i.e. the rape of California's best grape) day in and day out for six weeks this winter?*

Did I really eat a funnel cake in Florida two weeks ago on a weekend getaway from Memphis?

Am I really spending tomorrow morning at the world-renowned hot springs in Keflavik, Iceland, before leaving for Holland?

Is there such a thing as jet lag for the spirit?

Am I really this lucky?

I'm fine, really. I'm thrilled and I'm not just saying that. But it's sometimes like watching a film of someone else doing all these amazing things.

I feel the way I do whenever I look at my college transcripts, like "Wow, that's really awesome. Oh, that was me. How did I do *that*?"

In related news, I'm as excited as a ten-year-old about having My Own Room in London. I can't wait to decorate, to make it home. And most importantly, to finally unpack.

I'm so happy, which sounds fake. And I realize I've worked really hard; I mean, I worked until my feet bled. But is this really *my* life?

*There was so much scorn behind my Southern Hospitality.

betholindo at 9:02 p.m.

previous | next