If ever you desired to feel morally and otherwise superior to me, I want you to know that I have a boatload of things to do before blowing this popsicle stand (and ceasing to be a popsicle, myself), and that they sit unattended. I have not, for example, defrosted the fridge, cleaned the kitchen or packed. I also have the index card of doom sitting right beside my left knee, where it taunts me in its blue-on-white silence. But as a friend of mine (who shockingly, does not blog!) recently pointed out, the only thing you really have to do before you leave is turn everything (gas, electricity) off. Everything else will take care of itself. And I know she’s right, but I have this policy about keeping everything tidy so that when I return to Chile I am happy to be here. Which is an investment in future happiness, which Still Life (who sadly, I said goodbye to today) calls “being kind to your future self.”
I like this future self idea, and also of being kind to her. I would also like to call out my past self for all the sheer idiocy she has imposed on my current self (suddenly that De La Soul song, Me, Myself and I is making a whole lot of sense).
To wit: Tomorrow night I take the bus to the airport, wait the alloted hours to get on the plane, during which time I will surely eat a tuna wrap with avocado from Dunkin’ Donuts (after you go through Interpol/Security), and then I will attempt (possibly unsucessfully) to use the airport wifi to do some last minute work. I then get on the plane, do not get DVT (deep vein thrombosis), and arrive seven hours later in beautiful Mexico City.
But wait? You’re going to Mexico (you ask yourself)? No! I am not going to Mexico. I am spending ten hours in the Mexico City airport to wait for my flight to Seattle, where the lovely A and M and their little one J will wait for me with open arms and cans of chickpeas at the airport and spirit me into the land of (dare I dream? rootbeer (blame planet nomad for this new obsession) and summer temperatures).
This is what I mean about my former self apparently not liking my future (now present) self very much. Why would she book me this ridiculous ticket, which will only lead to unpleasantness, being hot (do not like, though is better than a DVT), and probably the added expense of buying Mexican nibblies in the airport? There is a possibility that future/present me will amble about the sprawling summertime metropolis during her layover, but there is also the possibility that she will make sad doggie eyes at someone who has the right to go into the fancypants lounge and get them to get her in as a guest. Or she will sit by an electrical outlet and play satellite office at the airport in the cheap seats. For ten hours. Did we mention that?
The truth is, former me was only protecting present/future me’s credit card from unfettered spending, and when she made the decision to make this trip, it was certainly some middle of the night type time, when none of us were really awake, and when saving a piddling sum of money seemed like a way to honor us all.
Oh yeah, did I mention? I’m leaving town.
If you’re in Seattle, look for me until the 13th, Portland until the 15th and then on a long, lonely train ride to a bus to a pickup in a Burger King parking lot to be spirited away to the land of book binderies, sustainable living and baby goats. I should resurface in SF on around the 19thish. Want to see any of the mes? Make contact. Especially if you’re in SF and want us to sleep on your couch. And drink all your root beer. After that, Blogher, Travelblogexchange, DC and NY/PA/NY. Oh! and then we fly home via San Salvador and Lima! We are so pleased with ourselves right now!