Leaving on a jet plane

I'm flying to Charlotte, North Carolina tonight. I'll be taking the red-eye, and arrive fresh-smelling and beautiful at 10 a.m. Eastern Standard Time.

Crickets

I'm really excited for this trip, as I'll be hanging out with my two best girl friends for the first time in almost two years. There will be wine, cake, more wine, stupid flute duets, wine, and more wine. Liz is creating a typed itinerary including "bra/panty pillowfight." Try to contain your excitement, boys.

The odd thing, though, is that this will be my first time leaving San Francisco in nearly a year. This realization has kind of thrown me for a loop. I'm generally a pretty frequent traveller. Not that I go anywhere exciting, I just tend to be on a plane an average of 5 or 6 times each year, usually headed to music festivals or auditions. The fact that I've hunkered down in one city for such a long stretch is odd. And, while I am counting down the hours until I board a plane (13 hours and 27 minutes to go...), I'm strangely anxious about leaving the world where I feel comfortable. I've frequently noticed the way that San Franciscans seem to forget that the rest of the world continues to function outside of the Bay Area. I've always scoffed at them, at the slight arrogance of this notion. It's somewhat humbling to realize that I've developed the same kind of feeling. I'm sort of ashamed of this bubble that I've built around myself.

So tonight I'll be stepping outside of my new comfort zone, flying back towards home and southern accents, fried chicken, and the two people who know me better than anyone else can currently claim. And I'll be back on Monday. The world will keep turning, and I'll be having a great time. Don't wait up for me!