Today I feel sick. Up until today, September 19 was distant enough for me not to care as much. September 19 was so far away, I didn’t have to worry about packing, saying goodbye, traveling alone, paying fees, finding a decent winter coat, cleaning my room, or my last day of work.

At 1 o’clock this afternoon, I found myself two hours away from the end of my last shift at work, and five days away from getting on a plane that will take me to New Jersey. My stomach felt like it does when I have to give a speech in class. My knees felt that way, too. I had the urge to go home and pack, fill the suitcase I had just acquired with the coat my mom had just found for me…and that was as far as I got with the mental packing list. I wanted to leave and write this blog, realizing I had so much to say that must be put in words now before I lost them.

But now I’m sitting in my room (which I can hardly stand to be in lately; its heaps of forgotten clean laundry and precarious stacks of half-opened boxes make me jumpy) struggling to write without thinking too much. My still-empty suitcase sits ominously in the midground, with shirts, sweaters, and cardigans pushing aside my closet curtain as if daring me: “Go ahead. I’d like to see you try.” I had hoped to be writing this while being semi-preoccupied with something else, like watching 30 Rock or waiting for the cake to come out of the oven. But no such luck.

What I’m trying to say is, I may go crazy. I can’t think too long about my imminent departure, or I might do something silly like cry or fall down. I’ve wanted to go to England for so long, watched so many movies and TV shows about it, read so many books, adopted the accent so often, let myself be so swept away by the culture as I imagined it to be, that I’m not completely convinced that it’s real. It’s like if you were to come across your favorite fictional character (or favorite actor, maybe) in real life: how do you align with your reality the thing that you idealized to the height of fantasy? I know it sounds ridiculous but I’m obsessed, and I couldn’t really explain why. I’m going to England like I’ve wanted to for years, and I’m staying there for three months. That’s a long time. People keep asking me if I’m excited and I say, “Yeah.” Maybe I sound bored, but I can’t afford to respond with my actual level of enthusiasm every time someone asks me that (which is surprisingly often; I’m starting to consider answering with something awkward like, “No. I’m dreading it.”). Also, if I get too excited, I might be setting myself up for massive disappointment. I’m trying to be realistic. I feel like I’m on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

My mom, apparently, is much more excited about this than she lets on. For the past week she’s been getting boxes with English-themed decorations for the going away party we’re having tomorrow. Napkins with the Union Jack and plastic cutouts of various English icons. I didn’t really see what they were. We’ve been researching traditional English dishes to recreate and serve at the shindig. Here’s a taste:

banger on a bun

trifle

cucumber sandwiches

scones with lemon curd

baked beans

Jammie Dodgers

…and tea, of course

I can’t tell just from the Internet how traditional some of these dishes actually are. I’ve tried to learn as much as I can from second-hand sources, but I know that culture immersion will feel very different. I’m looking forward to learning what only experience can reveal.

I got distracted and have run out of things to say. I think that was basically it. I’m okay now. Tomorrow I’ll pack a little bit, at least as much as I can with four days still to get through. Maybe I’ll make a list. I guess the problem is, my mind has already left. I just need to pick out the things to send with my body. But now that I don’t have to work any more, I can stop pretending that I’m still here.

I hope no one took me too seriously…

Marissa