I’ve retreated insanely far into myself, which means my brain is freaking out. I booked it to the gate even though I was early and there was absolutely no need to do so, which means I was a bit breathless and flushed and hot for 20 minutes after I sat down, which made me feel ridiculous. I’m wearing a semi-casual dress but with ballet flats instead of heels, which means I feel dowdy and frumpy.
And I know that things will be okay this weekend and will start looking up once I land at SFO and that everything I’m worried about will turn out to be irrelevant, but as of right now, I’m still at McCarran and am steeling myself to follow through, to not give in to this weird knot of anticipation and anxiety that’s formed in my stomach and to not throw in the towel right now and just go home.
Commit. Commit commit commit.
[Edit @ 4:30 p.m.: So Worry #1 actually happened and I won’t make it out of Las Vegas now until 6 p.m. And I’m still alive and the world didn’t implode and did I mention I’m still alive? Miracles, man. I’m recharging the laptop at the little Verizon-sponsored Recharge! Zone, or whatever this is called, and I just finished my online PoliSci quiz. AND I remembered I had lotion in my suitcase, so I’m no longer ashy. Still feeling a little frumpy from the no-heels thing, but whatever. (Also: not only are these new ballet flats, which means they haven’t been broken in, but they’re ballet flats bought specifically for the purpose of dancing, which means they’re currently a half-size too small. Because all the shoes I wear for dance get stretched out a half-size by the time they’re broken in, and loose ballet flats + Charleston = flying shoe missles. Point being, there is much metatarsal discontent right now.) Things are okay. It’s going to be a grand weekend, a gorgefest of dance in one of my favorite cities of all time. Yes.]