Vomit.

There comes a time in trip planning when "OMG we're going to GREECE!!!" just doesn't cut it anymore. This is the part where I look at my bank account, and I tell myself, "okay. I can either go to Santorini, or eat this week." And some how, no matter how hard I try, I keep choosing the eating part. It's when you feel sick, when you just say, I could spend five-hundred dollars and go to Greece, and have to figure out the ferry schedule, and how to get from place to place, maybe have to take a couple of taxis I didn't budget for, stay at pretty grimy hostels, and look at Greece in it's perhaps stormy and rainy weather, and imagine it in all of it's summer glory. Or, I could spend as much money as I need right now. Actually afford to buy gifts for the people I wanted to buy gifts for, be able to eat and enjoy french cuisine and not just french bananas and yogurt. And not feel guilty for spending money here. Every. Single. Time. I am coming to Provo for four days before Oregon, and I just realized that I have not budgeted a cent for that as of yet. And suddenly going straight home on December 7 just sounds so easy, being able to curl up on my parents' couch and drink hot chocolate and play with Ellie and talk to Rachel and eat without worrying about money and help my mom put up the Christmas decorations and go golfing with my dad at the marshy golf course and breathe in the beautiful smell that is wet Oregon. Wet dirt and wet pine trees and wet pavement and damp sky.

But, I don't really have a choice now. If only my bank account would magically fill up, and if only Madame would ask us if we were going to Greece, and if we were, that she would actually love it if we kept our luggage here, and that of course she wouldn't be going to her country house and getting the apartment painted until we left.

At the moment, this is the only thing that is motivating me to navigate any of this (and the fact that all of my plane tickets are bought already):

it almost makes me happy because the picture was taken in december.

I felt like this in London before going to Italy and Ireland, and so did Lori, and Whitney, and Roxanne.

please tell me that it will be worth it.

tell me to suck it up and stop being a baby.

tell me that I am a spoiled brat and you were throwing up reading this and you hate me and there is no reason I should be complaining right now.

and tell St. Nickolaus to deposit his coins into my bank account, because I won't be there to put out my shoes.