It finally hit me yesterday. I had been waiting for it. That moment when all of the excitement and fairy dust begin to mingle with the anxiety of packing (which I seem to be approaching as if I'm headed to a third world country), the stress of making sure that I'm at the flight gate on time, have enough Euros with me, have a way to communicate with the people "on the other side" in the case of an international emergency and/or conspiracy, etc. It's one part reality-check and one part Drama Queen.
I leave in 6 days and am determined to make the most of the the next week, spending time with family and friends before I go, and desperately attempting to retain some of the Spanish I've tried to learn this past year. Thus far, I am able to recite the following phrases in Spanish, only one of which may actually prove useful (I leave it up to you to determine which one):
Happy Birthday.
How many brothers do you have?
I have three children.
Thank you, 15-Minute Spanish CD. I do, however, know a pretty good handful of Spanish nouns. And beyond that, I'm relying on my knowledge of universal hand gestures to get me out of the previously mentioned inevitable international emergency. Bring. It. On.
