It just occurred to me the other night that I might NOT have fun. I've pretty much been dancing and singing this trip to my family for the past four years. I've been the ultimate sales rep, painting glorious mind pictures for them all of the utopia we will experience through travel. Then, the other night as I am drifting off, I had this awful thought: what if I don't like it? I mean, what if, after four years of planning and, let's face it, obsessing over this trip, we get there and I don't like it? It could happen. It doesn't help that my close colleagues have been teasing me about starting up a betting pool on when we'll return. At least, I think they're teasing. My husband figures if they have started one, all the early dates are already taken. Of course, we could just come home. But come home to what? Our house is rented out. How depressing.
Meanwhile, we have successfully stuffed all of our belongings into our attic space, the furniture into the garage space and whatever else was left we dumped on relatives, friends or the local dumpster. We are presently living in a shell. Once all the furniture was out, we realized just how dreadful our walls look. Did we really make all those marks and dings? I figured we just HAD to clean the drapes and managed to shrink them. No, no, not shrink them, shrink parts of them so the bottom of the drapes is about one foot shorter on each end than in the middle. Maybe the new tenants won't notice. Or maybe they are now going to check the drapes.
