All that's left to do is run.

26 days.

Bought my ticket on Wednesday. Should have been writing my finals, but I wasn't. Not sorry. I was rocking in the aisle to my inside song. ("People staring at me think I got a walkman on.")

It still doesn't feel real. I still feel like something HORRIBLE is going to happen and I'm not going to be allowed on the plane, or Scotland is going to call (yeah, all of Scotland... I said what I said) and say, "Sorry, 'Shley. We didn't realize you're a German child. Go home and click your heels, you Kraut."

I'm not even really German, so you know, that's not fair. It's been over a hundred years since any of my direct relatives even lived in Germany.

Which, yeah. I'm just being silly. Hell, I'm going to Scotland! For five months! I have the one-way ticket to prove it. Er, one-way e-ticket? Does anyone else hate that everything is digital now? I feel like my entire existence can be erased with the shwoop of a mouse. So long, see ya in the next life. Here's your hat, what's your hurry? I want the corporeal ticket, please and thank you. (Raise your hand if you were taught the meaning of the word "corporeal" by Hannah Bones' aunt? Yes. I suspected as much. Siriusly.)


Can we please address the fact that I used Taylor Swift lyrics as the title of this blog? Please? Because I am unashamed. And I know if Brian reads this it'll just be used to fuel late-night tent rants to Evan about how my taste in music essentially blows. (Among other minor grievances, but that's a story for a therapist, not a blog.) I really enjoy her music. It makes me happy, and sometimes sad, and sometimes angry. And sometimes utterly vindicated. Hey, I was a teen-aged girl once upon a December and I remember all too clearly the sentiments expressed by the song "Fifteen." (I should... I was feeling it, uh, yesterday.)



I'm getting really antsy. I have less than a week of work left before I'm home and I'm freaking right the fuck out. I don't want to do it. I just want to curl up in a sleepy ball until January 9th. At which point I will be on an airplane. 6:20 to Dublin, Aer Lingus, yo!

Anyway, bus to catch. Peace, love, anarchy.

What's the word?

Aimless.