Pain In The Ass

I was woefully unprepared for what a pain in the ass getting my passport was going to be.

First, it turned out I had an unofficial birth certificate, which was just dumb on my part. Then I was "half-smiling" and it "changed the shape of my face" in my photo. I got my official birth certificate and then found out today that it needs to be the long-form certificate, that includes my parents' birth information. And the background of my photo was possibly "too brown." It looked off-white to me, but who knows.

I submitted it, anyway. I'll just get my long-form birth certificate and have it ready when the rejection letter comes.

I'm just glad I didn't put off doing all this until the last minute.

I've been relatively productive today. After the frustrating passport office experience, I went to Barnes & Noble for some retail therapy. I bought Lonely Planet's Pocket London travel guide.

It's perfectly purse-sized. Pocket-sized, not so much, but it'll go in the purse. It has walking tours and recommendations and maps based on each neighborhood, which I like. And I like the pull-out map, even though I wish it wasn't just of the city center. I'm realizing now that my hotel isn't even on any of the maps. But that's okay. I can find my way there from the edge of the map.

It does, however, have a walking tour of Hampstead Heath, which ends with lunch at The Stag. I'm already planning to do that, actually, but I like that it was in the book. It makes me feel like I'm already in the know.

And it has information about what time of day is best to see the top sights in every neighborhood, which is something I hadn't even thought of, but I think that will be very useful.

Today, I'm planning to take my dog for a walk, because it's beautiful outside. Also, because I'm ridiculously out of shape and way too fat. If I could lose like 60 pounds before I go to London, that would be fantastic.

I'll get right on that. (Yeah, right.)

Rough Weeks

It's been a rough few weeks.

I might as well talk about this, because it's part of the whole journey.

Last year, a few days after I bought my ticket to see Hamlet, I called my mom and told her about it. I had been hesitant to even mention it.

I took a trip with a friend to Phoenix in college and I never told her about it until after I had already graduated and moved out. She was pissed! More pissed than she even let me know. But she sure as hell told everybody else about it, as I found out later.

The thing is, she was very protective. All through high school, I think mostly because she had already raised three kids before I even came along, I was very much sheltered. And when I went anywhere or did anything remotely dangerous, it kept her up at night, worrying.

Which is why I didn't tell her I was going to Phoenix until I had already survived it.

She also didn't hear about the trips to Dallas or the trip to San Antonio until later. I nearly got my car taken away after I took my niece and nephew to a movie in Tulsa, and that was just over an hour away. When I said I wanted to move to Tulsa, she said, "People get shot just walking down the street there!"

So, I could only imagine what she was going to say to the idea of me going to London alone.

But she shocked me. She said, "That sounds like it would be fun." She did ask me if I planned to get someone else to go with me. I said I'd like to, but I didn't know if I could talk anyone into it. Maybe I would ask my sister. I said I would go either way, if I could. But I softened the blow and reminded her I probably couldn't afford to do it, anyway, and I could always sell back my theater ticket, if it came to that.

Anyway, she was positive about it, and didn't try to scare me out of it. She might have at some point down the line. But I'll never know, because just a few hours later, she had a heart attack.

And before you think it, no, I don't think she had a heart attack, just thinking about me going to London.

The next time I saw her was that night in the hospital. She was sitting up and talking. She was joking about fixing me up with the obviously gay phlebotomist. She was asking for sweet tea. It seemed like she'd be going home in a couple days and she'd be fine.

But we got a call that night that she'd gone into cardiac arrest and had to be revived. She was intubated and out of it after that, and she died two days later.

That was April 13, 2014.

So, it's been a rough few weeks.

It's been a rough year, really. I finally, just a couple months ago, broke down and talked to a doctor about depression. I was, in fact, diagnosed with major depression, and I've been on a prescription for long enough now that it's starting to work. And I'm going for my first counseling session soon.

I think planning this trip is helping me come out of it. It gives me something to look forward to. And it gives me a reason to want to better myself. But mostly, I like to think that Mom would have wanted me to do it, even if she'd also be relieved that she's not alive to worry herself to death while I did it.

Maybe that's wishful thinking, but the idea emboldens me, either way. Which, frankly, is really needed, at this point.

Paying My Way

You'll figure this out as you read through this blog: I'm very neurotic. Every time I sit down to write a new post, all I can focus on is all the concerns I have about this trip. For something that's going to be so much fun, it is already stressing me the fuck out.

(Also, every time I sit down to write a new post, I get distracted by watching videos of drag queens on YouTube. For hours. It's my favorite thing. I should put "Find A Drag Show" on my list of things to do in London.)

Back to trip-planning, though: one thing that keeps coming to mind is the guilt over spending so much money. And the worry that I'll just run out of money while I'm over there and spend the last few days just sitting in my hotel. And the fear that something big will happen and I'll end up in dire straits, because I've spent myself into a corner.

I made a cheeky comment on Facebook, asking if it would be inappropriate to start a GoFundMe page to pay for the trip. The consensus was that people start them for much dumber things, so why not? I'm keeping that option open.

In the meantime, I talked to my dad on the phone and he, out of the blue - though I'm sure it was prompted by that Facebook post - asked me how much the trip was going to cost. I told him I had come to a conservative estimate of $3,000, altogether. He then offered to send me $1,000. 

Even though I know they say not to look a gift horse in the mouth, I turned it down. I told him to hang on to that for a birthday or something, if he really wants to give it to me.

I could use it now, sure. I could put it straight on my credit card and have the balance for my plane ticket and hotel paid down by half. That would actually be the smartest thing, now that I'm thinking about it. It would mean I'm paying interest on $1,000 less. Damn, I'm dumb.

But I just don't like the thought of it. He's just bought a new house and moved from Oklahoma to Kentucky. And his house needs a lot of improvements. That's what he should be spending his money on, not my vacation. Plus, he's living on Social Security and savings, pretty much, now, since I think the retirement is all but spent.

Anyway, I have a real independent streak. I don't like accepting help, if I can help it. Unfortunately, my income is not enough to enable me to be wholly independent.

In other news, I just discovered that VisitLondon.com has a YouTube channel. So, I'm going to watch all of the London travel videos I can find, now.

Bye, Felicia! (Sorry--too many drag queen videos.)