As someone who has written 100 posts, I should have realized that saving a day's piece as a draft within the Blogger Dashboard is a bad idea. It becomes obsolete way too easily and then the credit you've built up from writing that particular post has been absolutely lost.
See, I had been complaining that I couldn't find the shoes I needed, my passport hadn't arrived, I couldn't find a nice travel map widget that suited my country-hopping future, and blah blah blah. An hour later, the passport had arrived, I'd ordered my shoes through 2-Day airmail (let's hope they fit), and I'd settled on the fact that I'm going to have to set up a whole new and aesthetically displeasing travel blog on a site that specializes in such things. The other things I had whined about in that unpublished entry haven't necessarily been fixed or even confronted yet, but the damage had been done. I'll just have to delete the damn thing even before it had a chance to breathe the free air of the Internet. Kind of sad in a way.
I still have other things to worry about. For instance, I'm going to my eye doctor tomorrow to see about getting contact lenses. The last time I tried that I was in ninth grade, a significantly more easily frustrated and less medicated person. I drove myself to tears trying to wrestle with the contacts, only to abandon them to grow dusty in my medicine cabinet. Now, I must get over my adversion to touching my slimy eyeballs if I ever want to see something in the distance and take a picture of it. And, in a rainy country like Scotland, it would probably be easier to wander around and take in the sights without raindrops on my lenses. Plus, interestingly enough, I always find my time at the optomistrist's office entertaining. My doctor has never worn a pair of socks on his be-loafered feet (not that I have seen, anyway) and he looks oddly like Mel Gibson (but without the crazed glint in his eyes). He also has called me "Kaitlyn" for 21 years, which is not and has never been my name. At my last appointment, some synapses must have connected for the first time in two decades as he stared at my record sheet because he began calling me "Kathryn," which in fact is my name, but not one I would prefer. But he messes with my vision, so I'm not going to call him on it.
It does make me feel good to get some of these unpleasant things over with, though. It almost makes me think that I'm gradually becoming a new person and shedding off the worries and impediments in my way to enjoying stuff. Hell, I might even be cheerful a week before I leave. But, as my marathon session of watching House episodes while avoiding getting ready for four months away from home tell me, people just don't change. And I know that right before I board my plane on the Air India flight to Paris, I'm going to be sobbing my tear ducts dry and the flight attendents are going to have to drag me through the terminal. Sigh.
Oh yeah, you heard me right: Air INDIA!!!! To PARIS!!