Jetset Time: T-4 hours
Today is the day. I’m writing four hours from take-off, four hours from I-don’t-really-know, but four hours from endless adventure and nerves. Of course, I’m excited. Of course, I have been anticipating this day for the past seven months, but then summer came, and things had to change. With summer came busyness, plans, missed plans, friends of the dearest kind, tearful goodbyes, and joyful hellos, and then an act of God. For months, this day September 15th, was the light at the end of a tunnel, the beacon of hope at the end of the weary slog. But then came a Category 5 disaster. Or category 4 or category 3, it was all of those, but more than that it was the leveler of all things… including all the trees in our yard. It had a name, it was a she, and she was Irma. A hurricane whose track was as twisted as the spaghetti plots the sweaty meteorologist desperately pointed to as winds started spin faster and faster, 185 mph fast as a matter of fact. Irma wasn’t necessarily as bad as other storms central Florida has seen, but it was the first bad one in almost 13 years. She caught us while we were fat and lazy in our hurricane-less stupor.
Jetset Time: T-1 hours
Bliss, that’s what sitting in an air conditioned airport is, true bliss. Living without electricity in Florida means two things, unbearable heat and non-stop sweat. Gross? yes! but Im on my way to London now, and those things are behind me and the cool air conditioned future is gleaming ahead.
~Cat
