The Night Before...

I always hate the night before I travel.

I'm a worrier by nature, which explains why most of 6th grade I had an ulcer and wrote poetry about unrequited middle school love. I thankfully grew out of that and into writing lists.

My 6th grade bucket list included a lot of trivial activities: eating every type of Baskin Robbins flavor, making out with a certain crush (that did happen years later and it did NOT live up to expectations) and hanging out with somebody from a boy band (HEY. I did hang out with Joey Fatone at Derby. So win/win).

But my list wasn't all boy bands and ice cream. I had some more meaningful goals. I wanted to go to Space Camp (I puked on myself on the space shot ride). I wanted to learn a foreign language (I speak French. I won't go so far as to say I speak it well). I wanted to live abroad (And *that* happens to be the subject of this blog).

Strangely, all the things I have wanted, I have an inexplicably been given. I am guilty of being spoiled by the universe on occasion and am completely undeserving. As a type A minus personality, I constantly worry about the rug being yanked from under me. I'm always convinced every adventure is the last and therein lies the reason I get depressed before I travel. I am afraid that the beginning is the end of all good things.

*Cue Debbie Downer sound. Or that losing sound from the price is right.*
I am going to Gap, France to teach English to young children in primary school. This is a 10 month stay and I am going to be documenting my "thoughts from places" and maybe a few hilarious anecdotes.
If you want to follow my adventures, you can subscribe to this blog or follow me on twitter @TheBroadwayBaby (I'm a huge theatre dork. In case you didn't know this already. I assume you do)

They say the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. For me? The journey of a little over 2000 miles starts with a good night's sleep, two VERY long plane rides...and valium. Definitely valium.