Crouched at the Starting Line

Tomorrow morning at a very early hour, about 4:30 a.m., I will begin another epic journey. First I will be driven to the airport by an unfortunate saint who volunteered to get up that early on a Sunday morning. From Salt Lake City I will fly to Seattle, where I will wait five hours before boarding another plane. This flight will be long, probably boring, and supposedly "overnight." It must be overnight, because I when I finally remove my now-seat-shaped rear from the cushion, I will have arrived at the next day. Oh, and another continent. Because I'm headed to Japan. I'll be gone for almost exactly three weeks.

While words cannot express how excited I am to be in Tokyo again, this trip have challenges that my last one did not. Last time, I had what I believed to be a remarkable amount of disposable income to simply throw around and travel. This time, I'm completely two-dimensionally broke.

But I am, nevertheless, going to return to old haunts, find new sights to see, and breathe air resplendent with both humidity and pollution.

But at this instant, I find myself slightly over prepared. My suitcases are packed, the items going into my carry-on are carefully strewn about the living room. I've packed up all my clothes and music, and I'm waiting until I hit the airport to start reading the books I've packed. All I can do at this point, is wait. Wait for the clock to tick off a few more hours until bed time. I suppose I'll go clean anything that will go bad in three weeks' time out of the fridge and record a new answering machine message informing people that I am off on adventuring once more.

Yeah, I think I'll do that. It beats going over my train schedule for the fifth time.