Well, it's come to this.
Please excuse me flipping out like a proverbial gymnast.
Got my passport and credit card today (for travel, the wardens would never let me at the real thing), and it's officially time to run up the walls until the world tips to right me.
First, a little bit of background, I guess.
I'm 17, Caucasian, male, and whatever else you're supposed to fill in on those application forms.
The name's Noah.
So I just finished Junior year of high school, and the sudden snapping of my final chains is a bit like a breath of fresh aerosol; it's been sickeningly sweet, events day after day, and it's frankly a relief to have been grounded for the last week before the captain tells us to fasten our seat belts. Now I have an excuse to dig myself a lodging in my room and hole up until takeoff.
However, I've been busying myself with the wonders of the internet for too long, and it's time to actually start that whole process of acceptance that my body is about to be scanned to the infinitesimal detail, loaded with clothes for every occasion, and stuffed into a metal can with a variety of other sardines, to be shot into the stratosphere and (fingers crossed) plummet halfway across the world, where I'll be repackaged right around Zurich, Switzerland, and slingshotted to Hanover.
Or so my female overseer has informed me. Today.
Literally 73 hours before those little blinky lights illuminate the liftoff strip. Make that 72.
I should probably do laundry. Wish me luck.
No comments:
Post a Comment