My brother said the title to me, when I told him about our trip. I told Jake, and he said we should have t-shirts that say it. Good or bad, the shirts would cover our situation, either literally or sarcastically. Today, I could have worn mine (yes, we made them) as sarcasm.

It started simply. I went to the United website to check in. It wouldn’t let me. Hmm… I decided to call. I was told I couldn’t check in, because I didn’t have a return ticket. Without a return ticket, I would need something to prove I was coming home within 6 months, or a letter from the British Consulate saying it was okay for me to enter the country. That’s what they told me. ‘Sorry.’ Seems like someone would have mentioned that when I bought the tickets. Seems like I would have read something about that somewhere. Nope. Nothing.

Instead of spending my lovely day off before traveling by checking and double checking loose ends, I spent about 12 hours on the net trying to find a decent price for a return flight. Did I find one? A ticket yes, but the price is far from decent.

I’m trying to get over my aggravation. When I finally found a price I could half-way afford, I bought the tickets, then realized the day had sapped all the ‘can’t wait’ out of me. I simply didn’t care anymore. England-Schmingland.

I’m trying very hard to care now. I’m going, but I’m not far enough away from it all to be excited about it again.