So here goes . . .

There must be something else to do, right? Another undershirt to pack, another credit card company to wrangle, another CD to rip. But the bills are paid, the itineraries printed, the bags packed. (Mostly.) We've got a Ziploc full of toothpaste and lotion. We've got Pop-Tarts. We've got two books each. We've got drugs.

I remember this exact feeling from right before the wedding earlier this month. Nana can concur. It's like this huge thing that was something you've been going to do for a really long time is suddenly real. I mean, tomorrow (or Wednesday, actually--if the Good Lord's willing and the creek don't rise) we'll be standing in the immigration line at Incheon. We'll ride in a Korean taxi to an apartment whose address we'll only just have learned. We'll probably fight with a few customer service reps over lost luggage. We'll eat dinner. If we're lucky, before midnight, we'll go to sleep.

And a few weeks from now, we'll be teaching a bunch of kids we've never met, but who've suddenly become just about the most important people in our lives (at least until quitting time). We'll have visited a Korean doctor. We'll have opened a checking account at a Korean bank. And eventually, we'll start to feel normal--or as normal as two people like us can feel, at least. Live octopus will be a little less shocking. Learning curves won't feel quite as steep.

But for now, there's only all the usual emotions--a little fear, a little excitement, a lot of exhaustion, an occasional dash of frustrated rage. (The earpiece of my glasses randomly exploded last night. Seriously. That's just what I need!) I'd say I know I won't get to sleep tonight, but that's a lie. Though Nana won't, I'm sure.

And in the meantime, I've been ingesting every calorie of American food in sight, knowing that it'll be Christmas before I can get a decent burger for less than 12 bucks. For the record, our last dinner in the states will be Boston Chicken. Right now. Yum.