Time is boiling down, and drop by tiny drop, everything is splashing into place for my adventure abroad. With less than two weeks left until departure, I made my second journey into Washington, DC to obtain my visa. After an anxious forty minutes of traffic and congestion, I parked my car in front of the French consulate, and I attempted to brush aside any disconcerted notions about the tow truck on the opposite side of the street.
The Embassy approved my visa a few weeks ago, and now I had come to pick it up. After a short wait that seemed like hours, they returned my passport, and I zoomed off. Suddenly, the stressful burden perched on my shoulder shifted its weight, and I can say that I now breathe easier. Unfortunately, I still have to obtain a notarized French translation of my birth certificate. Anyone have any ideas? I will let you know how that goes…
With logistical paperwork for the most part out of the way, only one task remains: packing. Some of my friends may be inclined to say that I have a mild clothing problem. (Case in point: I may or may not have jerry-rigged the bed in my dorm room this past year to hang up clothes underneath it.) This being said, I have enlisted the help of one of my fellow Crusaders to help me out.
Fresh from flying in from Franklin, Massachusetts, my friend Michelle graciously agreed to lend a hand with filling the limited baggage I’m allowed. I picked her up from the airport around noon, and we dove right into the ocean that is my closet. And it is a good thing because I’m starting to worry. With only twelve days remaining, my frenetic, panic-prone predisposition is starting to kick in. I hope it all fits, and I hope I have enough clothes. At this point, I’m just glad I don’t have to swim the Atlantic with my luggage on a raft behind me. That would just be more preparation I do not have time for.