In 100 hours and 20 minutes I'll be sitting on an enormous Boeing 747 airliner, listening to the bilingual stewardess tell us what to do in case the plane decides to fall out of the sky, where the emergency exits are, and where those handy barf bags are located in the event my stomach decides to abandon ship (or would that be abandon plane?). Fast forward another handful of hours, I'll be standing on Japanese soil for the third time in my life, wiping the sweat off my brow from the inevitable summer-swelter that will wrap me up with its insufferable heat and humidity.
100 hours left in America. At the very least, it'll be 8,760 hours until I have the chance to sink my imperfect teeth into a heart-stopping In-N-Out burger. But I'm still here. And I'll be making as much as I can out of those 100 hours. Suitcases to fill. Friends to visit. Girlfriends (okay, girlfriend. But being polygamous would really help with making this sentence properly parallel) to kiss. Fatty foods to be eaten. Last minute planning to fret about.
But most of all, I have C hours to mentally prepare myself for the fact that I'll be away from everything I've known for a decent percentage of my life. Granted I will be coming back, but a year doing anything is substantial. And as cliché as it is, this is an entire new chapter in my life. I'm finally done with being a student after almost 20 years and am ready to slap on a suit to start digging my way out of debt. And for the first time I'll finally be out on my own. But I suppose that type of mental change can't really happen until I'm actually there.