Of Pre-Oxfordian Anxiety

So, here we are. Six days until my departure for the land of Eng, and I'm already at the too-anxious-and-excited-to-sleep phase. This isn't a bad thing entirely! I've already remembered several more things that I must retrieve from Williamsburg this weekend during my hours of non-somnolence.

I've also begun packing; the enormous, handily-wheeled suitcase provided by Aunt Karen should be large enough for all I need to bring, and hopefully I won't overweight it. An additional $40 for one more bag seems dreadfully imprudent considering my pending excursion to a country where my dollars will suddenly be worth 2/3 as much as I'm used to.

Honestly, I'm apprehensive; I've been waiting for so long at this point that it's a little intimidating to think of this actually happening. Don't get me wrong: there's no stage of the actual process that particularly frightens me, and I'm sure that I'll be more than able to handle each step of the traveling procedure. Just the reality of such a change looming so close is exciting and a little alarming.

The little powder-blue countdown clock that's been living in the bottom left of my computer screen reads 0 weeks, 6 days, 11 hours and some odd minutes. That's not a lot of time, and it's hard to pin down whether I'm thrilled or panicked about that.

Edited to add: Unfortunately, this blog allows one to select only one time zone for all of one's posts, and I found it to make more sense to set it to London time. It is most assuredly not 2 o'clock in the afternoon; I doubt I should complain of my sleeplessness if it were.