2004-06-03

Well, it�s forty-five minutes into Departure Day, and no sleep in sight. In less than twelve hours, I�m going to be in mid-air over the Atlantic. This level of anticipation isn�t healthy, I don�t think: in the past few days I�ve turned into an unpredictable, wild-eyed, obsessive-compulsive, manic-depressive, irritable freak. (No, I mean more so.) Today I went to the local vegetarian buffet for yet another farewell dinner: I ate a plate of saut�ed green beans and mushrooms, then had four desserts (because chocolate raspberry layer cake just isn�t complete without a garnish of blueberry crumble). Then off to the pub, where I drank Grand Marnier � since when do I drink Grand Marnier? Ew. Then back home, where I called everyone I knew until eleven PM, and then worked out for an hour. It�s now closing in on one o�clock, and I�m contemplating filling out my luggage tags and alphabetizing my airplane CDs.

Of course, this regimen of staying up to all hours and then sleeping as late as possible is deeply counterproductive, since England is five hours ahead of Ontario: in my new time zone, I�m keeping the equivalent hours of five PM to seven AM. When I arrive, jet lag is going to hit me like a rocket full of horse tranquilizers (unless I take up immediate residence at an after-hours club, which I just might do as an emergency measure, natch).

So there you have it. The next time I talk to you, I�ll be an ex-pat.