Commence panic in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1

It’s here. It’s started.

I was able to stave off the panic until now. Only I didn’t plan very well, because with all of the “Hey, I don’t need to worry about that till next month” and the “I don’t need to get nervous until September” and “September 1st—that’s when I’ll start to worry,” I practically scheduled this stinking breakdown.

My fears are many, and varied. Let’s go through some of them, shall we? That way I can see the full scope of the thing and will end this post huddled in a ball under my desk, weeping.

The Getting Ready to Leave Fears
I won’t get to spend enough quality time with friends and family before I leave.
I won’t get to spend enough quality time with my precious niece Savannah before I leave, so my plan of making absolutely sure she remembers me a year from now will fail.
I will forget to tie up at least 12 loose ends.
I won’t be able to sell my car.
I will pack too much.
I will pack too little.
My roommates will get tired of me crashing on the couch, so they will turn me out. I won’t be able to stay at Savvymom’s on account of the hobo spiders, so I will probably have to sleep in my car for 3 weeks, which will result in back problems, only I won't have the money to see a chiropracter or massage therapist.

The Getting There Fears
I will miss my flights.
I will lose my luggage.
They will show crap movies on the plane, like “Dukes of Hazzard” or "The 40-Year Old Virgin."
My flight will crash over the Atlantic Ocean, and instead of dying on impact I’ll probably survive long enough to be eaten by sharks.
I won’t sleep on the airplane and will then fall asleep on the floor of the Heathrow terminal during the 3 hour wait for my shuttle and so I will miss the shuttle and have to stay in a hostel with druggies and rats.

The Being There Fears
My classes will be too hard.
Everyone will hate me.
My new ward will make me be the Primary chorister, and those kids will eat me alive.
My skin and hair will freak out and turn me into some sort of zit-faced Medusa.
My landlord will be an axe murderer who comes into my room and sits in a chair by my bed and watches me with glowing red eyes while I sleep.
I will wither away and die from cell phone withdrawal.
I’ll spend all my time blogging and will therefore fail all my classes.
I will never get an idea for a thesis, and the department will tell me to just go home, because they clearly made a mistake.
I will turn out to hate library science and libraries. And books. Maybe I'll hate them too, all of a sudden.
I will get crushingly homesick and will cry every night into my pillow.
I won’t get homesick, and won’t stay in touch with friends or family, so that when I come home they will all spit on the ground when they see me coming and will refuse to speak to me.
I won’t meet, fall in love with, and marry a handsome Brit, which means there's a life-long dream shot to pieces.
I will meet, fall in love with, and marry a handsome Brit, which will be a very stressful thing to deal with and plan. I mean, clearly it’s cheapest to do the thing in the US, but think of the pictures you could get in the UK! I don't even know what I'll do about that.

The What To Do When the Year is Over Fears
I’m putting this one off until August 1st 2006. Check back with me then, because I'll be huddled in a ball under an English desk, weeping.

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