It has begun: the great countdown.
In one day, K is leaving for Europe.
In about 17 hours, we will be leaving for the airport.
In about 22 hours, her plane will be leaving Newark Airport. (Oh excuse me, that's Newark Liberty Airport.)
In about 45 hours, she should be landing in Berlin.
Within 48 hours, she should be safe in the arms of the office staff at the International Studies program at the Freie Universitaet Berlin.
Can the phone call be far behind?
Believe it or not, I am not as great a wreck as I appear to be. Not in the 3 dimensional world, anyway. It's quite possible that writing here is keeping me from having some sort of vascular episode. (No, no, blood pressure's fine.) And the absolute last thing I want to do is appear so nuts that it makes K nervous, or also nuts. After all, this is happening to her, not to me; gotta keep a little perspective here. She's the one travelling alone, not to mention the one who has a history of going into overload mode and shutting down.
Did I mention that I got her a great big chocolate bar, which I'm going to give her when we leave her at the airport, with a note that says it has medicinal value, and she should eat some immediately if she senses the presence of dementors on the plane? Really, you can never be too well prepared for the dementors, and I don't think she's mastered the Patronus Charm yet. Okay, put the phone down; I don't need to be taken away in the padded truck ... yet. K is even more all about the Harry Potter than I am, and I think she'll be amused. And really, as long as there are no beings on the plane ready to drain away all her happy memories and suck out her soul through her mouth -- and I'm fairly confident there won't be -- how bad can it get? She'll manage. She'll be fine.
It wouldn't hurt me to say that again.
She'll manage. She'll be fine.
She'll manage. She'll be fine.
She'll manage. She'll be fine.
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I'm watching The Today Show
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