In theory I am leaving for Guatemala on Friday. In theory. Because it does not seem real, and I am not packed. I can hear this voice still and slow in my head: It will be ok. You will board the plane. But it does not seem real, and I am not packed. There are things to do: buy a Spanish-English dictionary, find extra pencils and contact lenses. People to see: but two weeks is not so long, why this crush of anxiety?
Kevin has left town too for a separate adventure, so I am knocking around like a single shoe in a dryer in this empty apartment. I hear every squeaky floorboard, dripping faucet and rattling radiator. And I am wondering about cave paintings. Maybe they were painted because people missed home, and the only comfort in a dark cave was thinking about what you left behind to go exploring.