Mariposas Del Infierno

I get to a point where I can no longer think because ideas are flying too fast. I can't sleep either. My stomach is gnawing me, and I'm forgetful.

Living at home in the days leading up to Sunday is preparing me to leave in a different way--I'll be eager to get out of the discomfort and the constant bickering. It's just the way that some people cope with preparing to miss someone.

I'm not complaining--the flutter of adventure is equal to the flutter of anxiety. I must keep referring to my jubilant conversation with Laura the other day, and her awe-inspiring pictures of Bolivia--landscapes from Dali.

The plane flight from Ft. Lauderdale to Lima is only five hours. But we'll be camping in the airport for seven. The getting there is always hardest. I remember the first day in South Africa after 24 hours on one plane in one seat, my lungs and limbs begging for a reprieve.

It is raining outside, and I feel jumpy, itchy, and utterly unfocused.