Twenty hours

About 20 hours from now, my plane will take off from JFK to Berlin, and then fly from Berlin to Rome.

At this point, I feel like I am essentially paralyzed with excitement. All of the packing and preparing and talking to the luthier every day has swirled me into a pile of bones that needs to be put on a plane.

There’s really just nothing else I’m decent at right now…

In effort to defy jet lag, I’m planning to stay up all night. This way when I get on the plane, I should be just about ready to pass out something fierce.

As much as the first two weeks of this terrible absence dripped and dragged, the last week was quicker Рand the last 24 hours have flown. For me, this is the fairy tale part. I just need a godmother to slap Italian into my brain with her wand.  That would be extremely helpful.

I’m really good at terms of endearment, however. So at least if I find myself in hot water because of my lacking language skills, I can still tell everyone that I love them.

I’ve packed and unpacked my bag three times. I’ll probably do this two more times IMG_5724before I close it. There is something completely surreal about my impromptu trip to Italy and the beautiful man – my favorite, in fact – awaiting me therein.

There won’t be screens on my trip, just mountains, waves and the love of my life. Probably¬†an instrument somewhere, paper and ink, I imagine.

Finally. For a minute, I really believed the day would never arrive. I wrote a poem I really liked during that dismal set of days, at least it was good for something.

Now I’m out…

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