Oh. Em. Gee.
In exactly 38 days, 8 hours and 30 minutes, I will be hopefully boarding a plan set for Heathrow Airport, London, UK. After an hour there I'll be on another plane to El Prat, Barcelona, Spain. All I'll have with me is a backback three quarters full of clothes and a stuffed monkey that reminds me of home, and not enough money. But I'm going to make it enough money. I will. The rule for this trip is that Dad pays for the flight there, but I have to survive on my own for 6 months and fly myself home. So I feel like I might be bumming around Spain and the UK for about 5 months before I'm 100 bucks away from being broke and then I'm going to have to hide in a banana truck and secretly stash away until I get to the states where I can just walk through Montana into Alberta and then call my little sister to come get me.
Or Maybe God will put a couple extra gaurdian angels on Ginger duty and perhaps I'll come home safe and sound, unscathed and only slightly less broke.
Mostly I'm expecting to leave with expectations and come home with adventure thar far exceed my expectations. ugh. Talking about this just put really nervous butterflies in my tummy. Or maybe its the coffee. Either way. Whoooo. Breathe. I"M GOING TO FREAKIN SPAIN ALL BY MYSELF!
now, that may have been easier to hit CapsLock but nooo, I held shift the entire time. yeah buddy. We gotta badass over here.