I hate packing.

Time and time again I consistently demonstrate my brilliant ability to self sabotage myself. It's really quite impressive. I've known for months I would be leaving for Italy on February 11th and I wait until the night before to pack for a three month trip. I'm even choosing to write this blog write now instead of finishing up the packing.

Nicely done Remington. We all think you're really awesome.

But hey, at least I'm aware of it. Everyone can laugh at me tomorrow when I show up to the airport without my passport (I'll probably knock twice on wood for that one) but for now I'm reveling in these final hours in San Diego.

It's strange that this day is finally here. What do you do the night before a trip you've been looking forward to for over two years? More importantly, what do you do the night before you move away from home for the first time? It's like nothing I've ever felt before. It's an awful mix between frustration and anxiousness. If I've been looking forward to this trip for so long, why can't I focus for long enough to pack a suitcase?

But that's just it. Packing the suitcase makes it too real. This has always been a nice idea to me, but never something that was real. Always on my mind but forever elusive. Kind of like an opiate that would keep my restlessness at bay, but never really satisfy that inexplicable wanderlust. I think today, for the first time, I actually realized I was going to Italy. It blew my mind. This is my last night in San Diego. I was like "shit, I should probably pack."

I feel so lucky to have gotten to live the life I did in San Diego. My brother always tells me how "dramatic" I am, but I don't think I am being dramatic right now. I'm just being thankful. I'm ready for this though.

So let the adventure begin, right?

Although I'm not going to lie, packing this suitcase is incredibly stressful.