I am somewhat apprehensive about this trip I have coming up.
There were years where I left home for stretches of 60 to 90 days all the time. I am suddenly reminded that there’s a particular type of melancholy that descends upon me when I know that I am going to away for so long. Sure, yes, I am going on one hell of an adventure, but I am also leaving my lovely wife, my dogs and my nice little farmhouse behind.
Of course, I don’t expect anyone to understand that. If someone else I knew was going on this tour, I’d say “Button it. Quit complaining.”
Living in the now is hard work, though, and I just hope that nothing at my job explodes or that, y’know, any of the nightmare scenarios I can cook up in my head come to pass.
Also, what sort of idiot runs a marathon he is only marginally prepared for, them immediately jumps on an airplane for another continent? It’s a good thing there aren’t any dragons around, these days. I don’t know that I would be content to just play St. George…. I’d have to do it with lampshade on my head or something… for that extra frisson of “God, how did I get myself into this?” anxiety.