Yesterday, I was driving with my sister and exclaimed:
“My stomach feels very strange. I am either really hungry or I just realized that I am moving to Wales.”
I’ve been eating well, but my stomach still hasn’t recovered. Apparently when you are nervous your body goes into fight or flight mode which basically means that non vital functions turn off so that you can focus energy on things like strength and speed. One of the first things to go is your digestive function, which is why people describe “butterflies” or a “pit” in their stomach.
This information is courtesy of my younger sister who just started college two weeks ago and is obviously garnering at least a few bits of pertinent information. I’m still attempting to downplay her college success because I haven’t accepted the fact that my younger sister started college before me. Even if it is for just two weeks. Even if I am moving to Europe.
Anyway, down with nerves! I am so excited. Everything is arranged. I really shouldn’t worry.
The last practical tidbit to work through is booking an airbnb room to stay at near the airport when I first arrive.
Insert: Airbnb is a wonderful concept. Why use hotels when you can get a fuller more authentic more interesting experience for cheaper? My family and I have used it many times in many contexts, always with much success.
The only problem is that that every time I go on their website I get distracted. For example, I went on there today to book a one night stay near the airport no frills. And I did successfully book my little room. I also managed to plan my dream of dreams vacation on the side.
All photos are from this real Airbnb listing in England where you can stay for under 200$!
I would stay in a CASTLE. A real and true Victorian state near the Lake District of England.
I would choose to sleep in the sparest of spare rooms.
Then I’d wake up early early in the morning just to lounge in a big comfy divan to read novels and write poetry. Oh and I’d probably also spend about 10 hours packing and repacking and arranging my things in all the delectable trunks and and wardrobes.
Breakfast would be served with a company of friends at exactly eight o clock. And I have this strange idea that coconut cream pie would be on the menu.
Coconut cream pie for breakfast. Isn’t it just sinfully delightful?
We’d spend the day exploring the grounds and the nearby countryside. I am sure disaster would strike at some point and I would just happen to fall into a lake, forget the whole concept of swimming, nearly drown, only to be saved by a dashing young man who happened to be riding by on his horse looking for poetic inspiration.
It would be quite a shock, but our company would have to invite the man back to the castle and we’d all manage to be washed and dried and dressed our best in time for 4 o clock tea.
The evenings would be spent philosophizing by the fireplace