for to carry me home.

there are many, many things a girl must fit into her carryon when packing for a trip like the one i'm about to take. a few examples:

- insect repellent with 40% deet (because insect life in australia is large and aggressive)
- sunscreen spf 45 (because pink-cheeked white girls need help surviving the desert)
- a water bottle that holds 32 fluid ounces
- a couple of books for easy reading
- a list of postcard addressees (send me an email if you want one)

and about a million other things (about 100$ worth at your friendly local discount store, truth be told).

but what is truly elemental to the sucess of an outing such as this one is bravery - and that's something wal-mart can't squeeze out of a producer in south america for 2.98 a bottle.

in with the nervous making, because this is my first chance to dig my fingers in. this is my first chance to do ethnographic research, to put to use those things i've been learning with the purpose of dedicating the rest of my life to something. my first chance to make or break.

i could falter. i've been known to lose my words when i am put on the spot. any eloquence i may posess decides to take a personal day every time it's imperative i put it to use. people intimidate me if i want to impress them. i shake and my face burns, i have trouble breathing and i start saying "uhm," about every third word.

there's some major intimidation factor at work here, see. peter garrett, who we will meet with on our second day in country, already has me quaking in my rugged offroad trainers. How am I supposed to be hip, rock and roll, beautiful, confident, eloquent and brilliant all at the same time? most days i have the energy for about one of those things. Lunch with dr. peter read of australian national university? i have to do all those things and eat while i'm doing it!

beyond that, walking up to a stranger and introducing myself is something i've never done in the united states, let alone in a country where responses to my presence may include assumptions about fat, rich americans and their exaggerated sense of entitlement and presumption. color me excited (i am actually, just terrified at the same time).

and what's most important, really, is the idea that this is where i put my feet in the water and figure out if i've really got what it takes to dedicate myself to this work. the rest of my life is a very long time and academia is oh-so-fickle. perhaps i can't make the cut; maybe my insecurities will force me back to the shelter of a university where i will teach and publish and teach and publish and cry for boredom on my lunch hour every day.

then again, this entire entry is about me - and that atlas complex, well, it's got sharp fingernails and they've dug themselves deep into my palms. because if i really care to do something about anything, if i really want to make a difference to someone (anyone), if i really want to embrace this bleeding heart i've got fueling those warm-fuzzy feelings toward humanity as a whole, then i'll suck it the fuck up and do what has to be done. because it doesn't have anything to do with me. it has to do with other people - entire populations of them - who have no choice, no representation, no rights and no options.

that's why i think i'll succeed.

well. that, a bottle of red wine, a conversation with lisa, and my deeply rooted belief that i am better than everyone at everything and can do pretty much anything should i deign to give it a bit of effort.

my flight leaves at 6pm on monday. i'll be there with boots on.