How can she love me if she doesn't even love the cinema that I love?

Here, on the eve of my ephemeral salvation, I realize many truths - sad, denied, embraced, revered. Take your pick.

For one, this is the first time I'm packing things in what people would call "luggage." Historically I have been more likely to pack 3 days worth into a backpack so I don't have to check baggage. I borrowed some luggage, though, so I didn't have to buy any (edit: I think I borrowed a small suitcase a few years ago. However, this will be the very first time I have ever wheeled something into an airport.

For two, I'm not sure if I will be able to just sit back and chill out. I'm pretty high strung lately.

For three, I forgot numbers four and five but they are inconsequential.

For six, my favorite Guinnslinger Trixie is fleeing the country! Due to miscommunication, reckless exaggeration and flat-out lies on my part she has come to believe that I am leaving permanently, and has been so despondent over the matter that she scheduled her own indefinite leave of absence! Perhaps we will meet up on another continent, and regale each other with tales of our travels over glasses of rum.

For seven, who has my book? I have been looking for it very hard.

I will forego the silly numbering system but I realized that I have never bought a beach towel, I don't like most of my clothes, I still don't have a passport and I've never been to Boston in the fall.



Further bulletins as events warrant.