Raining on my Parade

Massachusetts, while I love my native state, is undoubtedly PMSing.

I hate these days: where the slick-metal coldness seeps all the way into your toes and the foliage greens glow preternaturally against a slate-gray sky. Rainy-weather days where it's difficult to roll out of bed in the morning, because you know the misty drizzle will follow you throughout, whether just in the goosebumps on your skin or in the very fabric of your mood. Days like these, I can't wait for Italy. It comes up in work conversation, where I look forward to cramming files into cabinets becoming cramming legs into plane seats. I daydream about flawless sun shining down on ruined marble and the markets of Castel Sant'Angelo. I want so badly to feel that sun on my skin, to leave behind gray spring days that know no sun.

Then, of course, comes the traveler's guilt. It feels strange to pack up and go after having just gotten home, sleeping in my own bed or sinking down into my couch thinking suck it finals, you don't rule me anymore. In some ways, I'm not quite ready to leave, either. I like picking up my brother after school and just driving him places, yielding to his whim when I, if I had to go somewhere urgently, would rather walk or snag a ride than subject anybody to my driving. I root through cabinets just for the sake of having cabinets, not so much hungry as toying with the idea of wanting food. I cook, and sit down to dinner with my family, and it feels so comfortable that sometimes I feel guilty for wanting to go—for feeling that irrepressible leap of excitement that dances in my chest when I think Italy, and green trees, and sun on the Capitoline. I know I'll be back in two weeks, and that my time in Italy will go by so fast that I'll regret even thinking about any doubts that I have; and maybe it's just these gray-weather days, but I can't help but wish for a little more time.

And then there's the packing. I, like I am in all things, am an extremely anxious traveler. I misplace the lists I need to prepare for my trip, I always feel like I haven't thought of half the things I need for the trip, and I always freak that I'll lose my luggage at the airport. It certainly doesn't help that I can stare at my suitcase right now and know it's not fully packed, wondering if I have the wrong clothes and if—oh, God—it will exceed the 50lb limit. Maybe I'll get to JFK and, after this one short week of preparation, think Holy shit, I am totally unprepared.

Or, maybe I'll film something like this:



All I know is, I really need to go shopping. And especially with rainy days like these, that's going to suck.