T minus 13 or so hours

Monday, Mar. 19, 2007, 1:47 p.m.

There are less than 24 hours left before I get on the plane, and I am just about to go out of my mind. All of the last-minute preparations are slowly but surely getting done (including the hourly argument I have with myself about how even though Canada seems like a better alternative, it is, for some reason, not one), and nearly all I have left to do is say a few last goodbyes, stuff a carton of cigarettes into my bag, turn in my apartment key, and try not to shed any self-pitying tears.

Last time, I didn't cry. I hugged Husband and my mom, who had come to see me off, threw my bags onto my back and boarded the bus. The excitement of doing something new and different kept me going for the first, I don't know, three days, before the reality of where I was set in.

Things are a little bit different now. For one thing, Husband and I have already said our in-person goodbyes. I'm sure there will be a few phone calls before I get on the plane, but there won't be any pre-departure hugs or waving out of the window, because he's stuck in North Carolina. The anticipation that carried me through before is decidedly waned, since I'm going back to virtually the same place I was before, and all I can think about is that overwhelming feeling of loneliness that caught me offguard in the first week.

I'm considering going to the behavioral health clinic once we get there and seeing if they'll hook me up with some happy-pills, because the last thing any of us needs is for me to be a whiny bitch. I think we can all agree that I don't need any help getting to the I Will Cut A Bitch level.

Seriously though -- all of you are being fantastic; your encouragement gives me tons of warm fuzzies, and I really, really appreciate your support. Many bitches may remain un-cut because of you.

Of course, since I knew this past weekend would be my last one in America for an undetermined length of time, I went out of my way to make the most of it -- which wasn't really hard, seeing as how I live next door to the most extravagant St. Patrick's Day party on the East Coast.

Here in the S-A-V, St. Patrick's Day is bigger than Christmas. In fact, it's more like St. Patrick's Week, because of what use is it to acquire dozens of strands of cheap Mardi Gras beads if you're only going to see them for one day? EXACTLY. Therefore, several days of drunkenness are in order. I would go into more detail, but I have a metric assload of errands to run today and frankly, my brain has bigger priorities right now than attempting to accurately describe such bacchanalian revelry, so I will just let the pictures do the talking. Here's a random sampling:

A small portion of River Street, as seen from a hotel lobby's balcony.

King St. Patrick? I don't know.

"Come to Savannah; we'll have you semi-ambulatory before nightfall!"

If you have to be a solitary leprechaun, this is the day to do it.

My dad came down for the weekend to spend some quality time with Husband and me before I left. Here we are, preparing to descend into the land o' drunks, with only our feather boas to protect us.

I have outfit-envy.

My favorite shirt of the entire weekend.

The Lady Chablis at Club One. I'd been to the club a million times, but had never seen her show. From the way some people were carrying on in there, you'd have thought she was the transvestite messiah or something. (They'd be wrong, though -- everyone knows that part goes to Eddie Izzard.)

In which we all invite you to kiss our shamrock.

Lastly! My good buddy Doug (whom some of you Diarylanders may remember as Disco the Kid) now has a podcast called Food Is Not Love, and this week his co-host interviewed the lovely and talented Dar Williams. I went a little "EEEE!" when Doug told me that Dar was going to be on the show, so he did me a little favor, which you can hear if you listen to the podcast here.

This will probably be it for me, diary-wise, at least until I'm in Kuwait. So if you'll all join me in a collective deep breath, I'll just be going now ...

(It can only get better from here, right? Right?)