diet coke: home

i think i'll miss you most of all...

(ps - expect the blog to be back to its regularly scheduled gallivanting very soon; i leave for new zealand tomorrow).

notes from the homefront

It really is impossible to overstate how nice it is to once again have soft, two-ply toilet paper that you can flush. So much better than thin, scratchy stuff that abuses areas only meant to be treated nicely.

I also have a ticket to New Zealand, so early next week, I will once again be writing from interesting places.

diet coke: new york

Because he is amazing and awesome, not only did Brian and his Spanish-speaking ass come all the way to Argentina to travel with me for two weeks, but he brought with hiim the most fantastic thing ever: two bottles of real, US Diet Coke. Not foundain, he apologized, but still! It´s real! It´s wonderful!

We went to town today, wandered about some, went to the lake, etc. And when we cme back, it was to a gently chilled real diet coke. I heard angels singing.

Oh, and to answer a question arduous asked, I am not taking pictures of my Coke cans or bottles, mostly because they don´t look any different. What is inside is an abomination of the label and of all that is holy, but outside they look pretty much the same.

This real stuff is great, yo. Having a blog hs totally paid off.

not all who wander are lost

i would really not be leaving the country if it were not for my mom. and i don't mean that in the bad way, but in the good one.

last fall, when i was in la, miserable, and thrown into personal crisis, i was on the phone with my mom - for one of what was probably several times that day - and i said that i should travel, and figure out what i want to do on a beach in thailand. her response was immediate: "i think you should."

my mom's support has been unwavering. she welcomed me moving back home, she patiently listened to all of my blather and planning and worry for the past year, and sat through many trips to REI. she also knew that today was coming, and that i was leaving, but she never let her sadness about that color her support for me. and even tonight, when leaving is really, really hard, she just reminds me that i can do this, that i will love this, and that everything will be great in the end. even though she sometimes cries when she says it, i know that she means it.

really, i have gotten nothing but support and favor for this crazy, stupid, wonderful plan of mine. i get some worry about disaster befalling, i get some sadness, i get some envy or blank stares, but really, everyone has been so for this. it makes me certain that i can do it, and almost as certain that it's the right thing to do (really, that's at a solid 70%; i hope to have it full to 100 by the end of the week).

my dad has outfitted me with all of the techno gear i could want - he's always 10 steps ahead, and he makes sure that i will have everything i could need for the whole time. my sister has always been the cheering corner - she's the one who keeps me abreast of how fun this will be. and my mom is the one that reminds me that this is what i want, and that when i am done, i always have a home to come home to.

i have had a rough couple of days. i feel really prepared - i think i have covered all of the bases i could reasonably expect, and i am all set. but i am not ready. leaving is the hardest part, and it is made even more dramatic with the knowledge that what i am doing is a big ol' leap of faith. i am not good with change, especially when i like things as they are.

i do love home. fortunately, my dad and my sister and my mom have made it easy to take home with me. i will be sad to go - i already am, and the morning...well, it will be ugly, y'all - but i've got a lot in my corner. my mom has never wavered, so i will not either.

of course, since i will also be thinking about the people who are not with me all the time whilst i am gone, i am sending pics to her, just to remind her that i am thinking of home and missing it.

t-minus 35 hours

i'm not ready to leave.
i'm not ready to leave.
i'm not ready to leave.
i'm not ready to leave.

an open letter

Dear fates:

I understand that people get sick. I also get that no one likes it, that everyone wishes it would go away and never come back, and that I am not an exceptional case.

But if we could, say, not have a repeat of yesterday any time between now and July, that would be awesome. I will even be more specific: yesterday morning, I was fine. Yesterday when I went to bed, I was ok. Feel free to continue those. It's the in between. Don't do that.

Yesterday was not fun - clearly, the pinnacle was me getting ill on the lawn of a strip mall, a particular incident I would care not to repeat on ANY continent. But the pervasive, violent vertigo/nausea/vomiting/clamminess that hit like some evil marriage between sea sickness and food poisoning? Please, please don't let that happen while I am gone. I so rarely get sick. Let this one be my turn for the next few months, eh? See, I won't have my mom on hand with tepid ginger ale, a sofa to lay on and moan/nap/watch TiVo, and a supply of bland, digestible food that requires no trips to the market on my part.

So until I have those things back going for me, I would really, really appreciate it if we could not repeat yesterday - or invite any of yesterday's friends over to play - whilst I am on my own and on the road.

Thanks and kisses,

annie

cc: immune system, karma, viral and bacterial nemeses

winter

Sometimes, in the midst of all of the places I am so excited to get to, I have to remind myself that where I am leaving can be pretty awesome.

I am a born-and-raised Californian, and here in the Bay Area, we don't do inclimate weather. It's not nearly as bad as LA, with its creepy Stepford weather and its never-ceasing early summer; we do have our warm bits and our cold bits, but it's all relative. And only now, in early December, are we getting the good stuff: overcast, drizzly, misty days and pretty orangey trees. It is still missing the crispness that would make it autumn in the rest of the 

country, but this is winter of my childhood. It is also the only winter I will have this year. And it reminds me that home can be a lovely place to be sometimes.