The Marriage of Figaro (Overture) - Mozart.

i have been mentally preparing myself, for the last three months, for my much longed and dreamed for backpacking trip never happening. come to think of it, i probably have been preparing myself for complete fail plan since i originally thought of it when i was 7 years old. or something. i am after all, quite sullen in thought. at least i seem to think so. i mentally prepared to never have the opportunity to go, that when i finally got my Schengen visa last wednesday, i realized, much to my aghast, that as much as i had dreamed about it, i have never mentally prepared myself to actually be able to go! so now, a week away from lying in my bed on the pretty island of Crete, in a town called Chania (pronounced ha-nee-ya), i am filled with equal amounts of excitement, nervousness, and of course, the ever prevalent anxiety.

and somehow, the nervousness and anxiety are like carbonated drinks, and all shook up, the foam hides away the excitement.

suddenly, i wonder, am i fucking mental? i can barely hold up conversations with my friends, and im going to throw myself into strange countries, among strange people, that i must at some point interact with, alone! and anyone who knows me at all, knows that i have little problems being by myself. but this is a crazy thing, no? fuck yeah it is.

and when im not making five hundred and twenty seven lists, i have time to let my mind wander it takes me to dark alleys and mean italian taxi drivers, and bedbugs and lost passports. but then, there is that duality, i speak about so fondly. the stable, level headed and grown up part of me decided to be corny, but still calming, and out of nowhere comes up with very soothing hallmark card bullshit.

out of no where, the image flashes in my mind and i think "ships are safest in the harbor. but that is not what ships are made for."

i have been feeling restless for so long, and to let my imagination slow me down or cause me any hesitation would be a complete loss of courage and also the tiny shards of dignity i have sticking out of my chest will all just fall out, and that will be more than just tragic.

so i will go, with or without nausea, be (as) friendly (as is humanly possible of me), happy, thankful, and scared but unafraid. i will go and search through atlantis, the alps, the roman empire, Mozart's tomb and through the lands of the bohemian crowns, for soul or muse or godot. and i will come back, hopefully with a health tan, dirty clothes, seven trazillion photos, and my passport still intact, and my back way stronger, my knowledge and understanding increased ten fold. hopefully i'll come back knowing that my parents have no favorite child, and that their mistakes are as forgivable as i believe mine should be. hopefully, i wont be as awkward and treat people as people and not as if im an alien with limited understanding of human interactions. or maybe i'll come back the same, with a headache, a weeks worth of laundry and too many stories i'll never tell.

thing is,

the more i think about it, the more i don't care about what i'll get.

the more i think about, i just know like an orchestra playing the marriage of figaro deep inside my gut, i have to just get up, pack up and go, fucking go, go, go and LIVE!

and i will.

and i'll do it well.