Simon & Garfunkel are on loop/extended dance remix in my head, in my heart.

Itinerary is posted, clothes are packed, body is ready to hike and ride (and sit on my arse for 8hrs en route), psyche is ready for family ad nauseum, and fresh sheets are on the bed for when I come back to Atlanta at 6am on the 6th, crawl home and collapse.

Due in no small part to the fact that I’m a dorkasaurusrex, the laptops (yeah, plural), Blackberry, digicam, videocam, cell, iPod and all their sundry cables and adapters are making the voyage with me. You should expect multi-media posts of the land time forgot at regular intervals provided I can find some free WiFi to rock.

As much as I fear the ghosts that greet me each time I return “home” to my North Coast, I’m aching to see my family, my friends, and the land that built me.

I’m thrilled that Kevin and Michelle are going to make it legal, and can’t wait to see him officially (in my eyes) become a man while I boo-hoo my little baby heart out and ruin my once a year makeup job. He’s come a long way and I couldn’t be more proud of him if he won the Tour de France and the Nobel Prize on the same day. He’s my baby boy, my Irish twin, and so much more than “friend” or “brother” can convey.

Now, if someone could come sit on my suitcase so I can close it, that would be great. Thanks.

Kissy boo!