I've gone twitchy. It's official.
Leaving tomorrow means I have so much to do and I'm getting foiled at every turn.
I look up on the Poste's website about shipping, find out they have a wine-bottle-box. Great.
I go to the Poste, and it's not legal to ship alcohol to the States. Thanks, America.
So now I have two options: drink it all tonight/tomorrow morning, or wrap it up in bags and wrap it up in clothes and pray it doesn't break in checked bags. Thanks, America.
Then I went to get my laundry out of the laundromat, and I only started one of the washers because I was thinking about the booze conundrum. Thanks, me.
But then I ate an eclair so I felt a little better.
But I've gone all emotional again, and while I'm stressed out and stuff, it shouldn't be that big of a deal.
Maybe I'm just upset I'm leaving.
But I think I'm going to say "screw this" and go to the Louvre this evening. I don't need sleep, right?
Souvenir bought! (You were the last one, Miss-hard-to-shop-for, whereas Jenny's was like the second one I got.)
And postcards are getting mailed when I get home because it will cost 800 million dollars to do here and take 800 times longer. So there.