I leave Friday morning for New York, and then for Europe.
I was going to get a lot of stuff done today, but instead spent over two hours fighting with my printer (Thanks Joel, for finally suggesting the thing that made it behave!), and another hour and a half making a batch of enchiladas that will feed me all week.
I haven’t packed (although I’ll be doing that tonight). I haven’t picked up prescriptions. I haven’t found something that I can put my toiletries into so that my shampoo doesn’t get all over my actual clothing.
I have purchased enough sunscreen to drown an elephant. I have purchased five pairs of cheap-ass sunglasses, since losing five pairs I buy here is cheaper than buying one there.
I haven’t finished my simple translation guide (featuring such useful phrases as “Another beer, please!” and “I am Canadian.”). I haven’t made copies of my credit cards and passport and driver’s license. I haven’t figured out how much money to move from savings to checking.
I have watched all of the astoundingly crappy Elvis miniseries that was on CBS last week. I have done research to see what’s going to be on television while I’m gone. I have set up my TiVos so that it can all be recorded.
I haven’t paid my rent for June and July. I haven’t even begun to clean up my absolute shithole of an apartment so it’s not completely gross when I get back.
I have done tons of useful things, but I’ve done a lot more useless shit that I’ll be sincerely regretting later this week.
I love to travel, but man, I hate preparing for it.