DAYS REMAINING: 264
It is very, amazingly, terrifyingly difficult to believe that I will arrive in Iceland this Friday morning. But alas, that is exactly what is about to happen.
Back when we first decided to
undertake this insane plan in the first place, Eric and I decided I would take a weekend and fly to Reykjavik for a long weekend to meet with
Anna. We knew my current job would be finished by then (which turned out not to be true), and wherever I worked next would just have to deal with me missing one day to jet off to the Arctic Circle, an excuse I’m sure employers are just plain tired of hearing at this point. Eric knew he would be working those days, and so it was decided I would go flying off to a strange land in permanent wintry darkness all by myself. Until Tracie.
Tracie and I went to college together, sang elitist northeastern college a cappella together,
wrote a smash hit musical together, and have experienced madcap antics in cities ranging from New York to LA to Providence to Montreal to Poughkeepsie. That’s right. Poughkeepsie!
On our saddest day, we even spent an unspeakable night in 2004 at the
worst hotel in America. We lived to tell the tale, but are still secretly convinced a gestating dirt alien will burst through our hearts unexpectedly in twenty years, killing us instantly and deservedly so. Seriously, people. Do not ever go to that hotel. You'll emerge looking like this:
