Friday, September 5, 2008

Leaving on a jet plane

I do not know how to blog. The blogs that I have read in the past are either extremely eloquent and polished, or incredibly inane. Mine will most likely fall somewhere in between. It's weird enough, anyway, that I am doing this. It's like an eight month-long invitation for my friends, family, and total strangers to read my diary.

Today is my last day of work in the US, and I have a week and a half before my flight to Paris. I alternate between being calm, cool, and collected--calculating everything perfectly, making lists of the things I need to do and purchase before I leave--and positively freaking out. I do not know how to move across the world for almost a year. I do not even know how to check baggage on my own. Aside from these polarities of emotion, I am also experiencing a nonchalance often exhibited by my hippy/ski bum friends--a nonchalance characterized by them as the "shit'll buff attitude". No need to make hostel reservations for when I arrive in Perpignan--shit'll buff. Have to spend the night in the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, totally alone? Shit'll buff. Not have any idea what I am doing or how to go about doing it? Shit'll buff.
Normally, I am positively infuriated by this attitude (particularly the "no reservations needed" bit), but strangely I think that it is beneficial for me at this point. There is only so much worrying that I can do, and it doesn't seem that any of it actually helps. As those ski bums say, shit will buff. Because it has to.

Until Paris, then, I will still be plodding along.

3 comments:

Joe said...

Isn't it fun having total strangers read your diary? Except you have met me.

Iman_313 said...

Love the title of the blog... haha
Watch out for them long-haired blue-painted Gauls. They'll getcha.

Ach - the barbarians made me make a blog in order to comment. Vacuous capitalist whores >.>

B-Gabbard Fam said...

I love you Shlee and will be thinking of you constantly while you are on your wonderful journey! Love you~ Mess