It's 2 AM and I've been packing for hours, trying to get it 100% right. Sometimes, I think perfectionism is a disease I used to have and I am far too evolved to be so afflicted at the ripe old age of 21. Low and behold, being a recovering perfectionist is something like being a recovering alcoholic: denying your condition doesn't help matters.
It's like I think that if I pack exactly right, then everything else about my semester abroad will go according to plan. Do I really believe that? No. But on some level? Yeah, sort of. Part of me actually suspects that if I read enough internet articles on how to pack a suitcase, I'll be better prepared for what lies ahead.
Confession: I'm not at all prepared for what lies ahead. I'm spending a semester abroad in Chile and honestly, I'm kind of winging it. I haven't taken a Spanish class in about a year and a half. I really have no reason to believe this is a good idea. Except a hunch. And very supportive family and friends.
Ready or not, I'm leaving Monday. So here goes nothing.
