The perfectionist in me is not ready to leave.

Oh, the dreams that I had about how perfectly prepared I would be for this trip. Tomorrow I move all of my stuff into storage and I am nowhere near the packed-up, ready-to-go state that I was hoping for.

Even worse, I don't have my car set for the Go-Go-Gadget way of living that I envisioned while daydreaming about this trip. I wanted to have compartments for everything. And compartments for my compartments. I practically wanted to hook electronics to a clapper-type level of ease. I wanted to be able to say "Get me a Diet Coke" and have some robotic arm reach into a cooler in the back seat and pop the tab and place the can in my cup holder. I wanted to be on a first name basis with my GPS device where she would say "Good morning, Sharon. Where to?" and then take me the exact scenic route I'd envisioned.

But, alas, I shall have cords running in all different directions into my lighter outlets, preparing to short-circuit the entire car. I'll have my trash in a plastic grocery bag on the car floor, if I'm lucky; most likely the trash will just be strewn around the car. I'll fumble dangerously with iPods and iPhones and CDs and GPS's and snacks and sweaters until someone calls the cops to report what appears to be a drunk driver swerving all over the highway (Just kidding, Mom. Safety first. Hands 10 and 2 on the wheel.)

Monday is go day. Saturday and Sunday are "run around like my head's cut off and having momentary lapses of freaking out and crying" days.

So the random photo of me at the top is a practice photo post. Right now I am only able to figure out how to post pics to the top of the page; although I'd like to position them on the page wherever I'd like. And to add captions. If you know anything about such blogging techniques, drop me a line in the comments section.

(The picture at the top is me looking dapper in Central Park last April. While striking this pose, a man walked by and yelled "Work it, Girl!". I took it as a compliment but he was probably just heckling -- those sassy New Yorkers.)