The Devil Is In The Details

It's harder than ya think, chucking your life aside for a couple of months. There are still things that have to be attended to even if you're not there to attend to them.  Requires lots of planning ahead and running around like the proverbial headless chicken.  So how can it be that I'm sitting here, feet up, enjoying a nice cervesa fria?  It's because I've drained my head of the copious amount of flotsam that has been floating about on my brain waves. Yup, I took some time today and made lists.

I've currently got four on the go, each one a living document that can be added to when things creep into my head space.  Better on the paper than risk loosing it in the nether regions of my brain.  Because I'm at that age where I forget shit really fast.  Until I close my eyes to go to sleep.  Then everything I've forgotten during the day is suddenly front and centre.  The two big lists are the Between Now and Then List and the Just Before I Leave List.  There's also the Stuff To Buy List and the Have To Do Out Of Town List.  

I'm fairly certain there's nothing left to do for the actual trip itself.  I've bought my travel insurance.  I have Euros.  I've checked ferry and bus schedules for getting to the airport (living on an island adds a whole other component to the travel experience.)  I've checked train schedules at the other end.  I've even done the advance research on how to get from Spain to Italy and back to France for my little side journey when I've finished my Camino.  The not knowing what travel dates I'll need to book on the other side makes that an exercise in extreme frustration.  But at least I have some idea which airlines fly where in Europe and some approximate dates.

So basically I could load up my pack and leave tomorrow.  Except for all the stuff on those four lists.  Stuff like buy dog food.  Pay all bills in advance. Clean the bird cage.  Mow the lawn.  Go over shit with the kid.  The kid...she's almost 20 but I seriously doubt she's ever turned on the dishwasher.  Or shoved a flea pill down the dog's throat, because she won't even take it in a piece of cheese -- the dog, not the kid.

And then there's the ever popular clean the house.  Why is it when we go away for any amount of time we feel compelled to clean the house?  The very same house that we don't feel compelled to clean when we're home and living in it?  One of life's great mysteries.  But I'll do it all the same.  And the satisfaction of crossing things off those lists?  Priceless.

Now I just have to keep an eye on that damned volcano.