24 hours

24 hours from now, I should be at the airport. My belongings are packed, I’ve cleaned up the apartment, I have company coming over (everyone wants to see you when you’re moving out of the country; just accept it for what it is – in the final days leading up to lift-off do not belong to you), I have eaten just about everything that cannot be pawned off onto my younger brother and his new roommate, I’m moved out of the bedroom so that said new roommate can move in, I’ve purged my phone of it’s information so that I can give it to my grandmother…

And I’m probably going to forget something, but so long as it isn’t my luggage, my passport, or my flight information, I’ll be okay. I’ll be checking in online tonight before bed, tomorrow I’ll give my phone to my grandmother when I meet her for breakfast/lunch, my mother and I will be packing my dress into my second carry-on, and then it will be a dash to the airport where I will then make my way through the tighter security (because of course the President of the United States would be flying into Minneapolis on the day I leave) to my gate.

Just 24 hours more.

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