I'm excited. I really am. I've been looking forward to the adventure all summer long. Now, it's almost here, and I'm all atwitter.
My tummy is roiling, jumping, flopping, on the verge of aching. Why? I cannot say. I just report the facts.
My clothes are in piles on the closet floor; decisions to whittle the selections down to those which make the cut are stymied. I look at the clothes - new, old favorites, bright colors, sedate blacks, light shoes and sneakers and everything comfy and clean and why oh why is it giving me the willies?
My original plan had been to take only my Vera Bradley doggie carrier. Yes, it's a doggie carrier but I didn't know that when I bought it. It's the perfect size for visiting FlapJilly and her parents, because I leave my basics in their house. The carrier holds gifts and a few select items perfect for whatever occasion sent me their way. It's light and bright and makes me smile. I love traveling light; a carry on which fits under the seat in front of me defines that mode of travel.
But seven days away from home, flitting between hotels and friends and relatives, dressing up and dressing for dancing and dressing for meetings and greetings and museums .... well, that leaves me with several pairs of shoes, and almost every skirt in my closet. The bag is bursting, and I haven't put in the toiletries and sweater and gifts for my hostesses.
I relented and brought in the rolling suitcase. I'm not going to take advantage of my free checked bag on this leg of the trip; my AAdvantage credit card gifts me that freebie, but I'm changing planes and worried that my clothing will end up in Dubuque while I'm in NYC. I'm reboarding in Dallas/Ft. Worth, an airport which has had its share of delays and weather related disasters; a checked bag will tie me to my original flight and diminish my opportunities to escape, should they exist.
Trust me. TBG sat in the Phoenix airport for hours because his checked bag tethered him to a flight that was cancelled. He couldn't change anything; he was attached to his suitcase, wherever it was.
These are the kinds of worries running through my mind. The weather report is perfect. Why am I so anxious?
I'm staying in a hotel recommended by a Hotelie friend; she's never steered anyone wrong, and she loved this boutique Marriott property on her last visit. I have all kinds of Marriott elite status points; I'm usually upgraded when I check in. Yet, somehow, I'm worrying. I'm not sure what I'm worrying about. I'm just worrying.
I have to get from Kings Point to Bethpage on Tuesday. The Long Island Rail Road would be my choice for transportation, but the two towns are on separate lines which requires traveling to a hub and changing trains. Somehow, spending my vacation in Jamaica Station doesn't excite me. Uber doesn't seem to have a presence on Long Island. I think I'll use a car service, treating myself with G'ma's inheritance, traveling like a lady, as she would say.
Dinner with friends at the beach may be less wonderful than we anticipate; there's a 70% chance of thunderstorms that day. That won't stop the conversation or diminish the joy, but the dancing might be a little soggy outside.
I'm not seeing everyone I should.... and that adds another fillip to the fox trot going on in my belly. Life is too short. I don't need negativity. I just don't want to. That's going to have to be enough.... I hope.
There will be smiles and laughter and hugging. Old friends and young cousins and pizza and the Museum of Modern Art will fill my days before, during, and after a wonderful conference of like minded humans. I'll be wined and dined and have no one to answer to or for except myself.
Why am I not able to relax and enjoy the anticipation?