The hours before a trip are so predictable for me. I pace. With no purpose whatsoever. I just walk around aimlessly, feeling restless, thinking that there must be something I should be doing (which, of course, there are plenty of things), but not wanting to really do any of them. I should pack... eh, it's still too early. If I've already packed, I'm pacing thinking of things I know I must be forgetting. I consider plopping down in front of the TV, but that seems like such a meaningless way to spend the last few hours at home. I consider the computer... and, honestly, usually go there... even though I know that's just as meaningless. I look over things. I think about cleaning and organizing things. I make piles. It's ritualistic.
Tonight, it's somewhat premature... since I have pretty much all day tomorrow to get my pace on too. These poor wide, old boards.
Meanwhile, I think I've finally gotten the details ironed out for the trip up north next week. Who knew State College was hosting a festival this weekend?! After one hotel switch after the first night, we should be golden.
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