The Exodus.

I hate packing.
I hate the idea that I am responsible for putting together everything I THINK I might need for a given amount of time, in a small suitcase that will eventually be searched through by homeland security, scrutinized, and possibly even be made fun of. (I am writing this with the memory of my mother laying on my bed, only moments ago, making fun of my underwear collection I have amassed over the past few years)
I ALWAYS wait until the last moment to pack. "O, we have to be up at 6am for our flight...it's fine I'll pack at 2am." That is pretty much my motto; a true procrastinator at heart. I have postponed returning to college by hours+days due to packing insanity, to be honest one year I was delayed because Sam Nidel got me addicted to Lost over winter break...and I was too captivated to move from my bed and pack for spring semester.
Actually, when I left for my semester abroad in Prague junior year, I decided that 2 hours before leaving for my flight was the prime time to pack...even though my mother and I had just returned from the nail salon. I remember rummaging through my disorganized room and even more scattered closet and dresser for recognizable clothing to bring with me. How did people dress in the commie third world? Would my "uniform" of leggings, a long tee and sweater be okay over there? Are colored items of clothing even allowed into the country, or am I relegated to only wearing black? Shockingly, I got everything I needed into the suitcases and successfully made my way through my semester abroad without freaking out about forgetting anything. I might be a procrastinator and I might rush through things, but I am always thorough.
I decided, being a graduate of Wellesley College and all, embarking on this amazing opportunity of my new "grown-up" life, I would change my packing pedigree. Beginning a full 36 hours before leaving, my mother and I began packing up my entire life, or what I could fit into two suit cases. Utilizing the rolling method, we were able to cram all my clothing, except for cardigans and a few skirts, into 1 whole suitcase. A FEAT! Now lifting it...that is another story. I'm sure there will be some reorganization tomorrow, frantically, of course.
We decided to put on Exodus, one of our favorite movies of all time, to pack to. Apropos of course, since the movie is about one of the ships that illegally brought European Jewish Holocaust survivors to Palestine and the fight for a free Israel post-partition. While rolling my clothing into tight baguette shaped balls of cloth and silk, mother and daughter drooled over Ari Ben Canan, better known as a young Paul Newman. It always has amused me that a young Paul Newman can bring together a mother and daughter separated by 40 years and many many other attributes.
It still hasn't sunk in yet. Am I really leaving? Leaving my life, my family, my friends, my relationships, job opportunities, would haves and could haves...leaving all of this for me to take a 5 month respite in Israel? I think that when I board my ElAl flight at 7pm, amid all the smelly Hassidic Jewish men, who will not sit next to be because my skin is showing (and thank goodness for that, because the smell might kill me while over the Atlantic), it will finally sink in. I am leaving on a journey to not only figure my life out and find myself, but also to give myself a well needed break from four years of Wellesley College academics and stress, Babson College frat parties, drama, deadlines, pressure, and Long Island.
I'm ready.