My bags are packed.

My fridge is cleaned out.

The garbage is at the curb, errands all done, and I’ve managed to vacuum too.

I feel like I am 6 again when I would get all dressed for somewhere special (church, zoo, Grandma’s) and then wait expectantly by the front door. “Are we ready to go yet?” I was raised in a house that had so many bodies in it we were kind of chronically late to stuff so I inevitably had to wait patiently (or not so patiently) for the rest of the gang.

So here I am at 26 waiting by the door for 6am to roll around so I can board that plane to Mazatlan and dig my toes into the sand.