On My Way to Italia!

The reality of going to Europe was hazy and out of reach until yesterday morning. Then I came to my senses and the amount of packing I had yet to do loomed over me, causing me to cancel my plans with my best friend, Braedan. I had invited him over for supper and a movie, but as I looked around my downstairs half-suite (which will be referred to after this as the Fortress of Solitude) I knew that I would never be packed if he came over. So I arranged to meet him briefly in the morning and set to work packing as soon as we got back from visiting Grandpa in the hospital. He's been having heart problems and hasn't really been very enthusiastic about getting better. I made him promise to be at Jasmine's graduation, even if he had to be in a wheelchair and I made him promise that he'd still be around when I got back from Italy. He gave both promises and then told me he loved me. He never used to say that and now I don't ever get tired of hearing it. He's the epitome of a grumpy old man, but I love him dearly.
When we got home, I began by emptying my desk, my closet, the bathroom and gathering anything that was mine in the Fortress, sorting it for storage and packing. I had to rearrange a few things and practically move out of my own room because Braedan and Lucien, my cousin, are moving into the basement while I'm gone because they are taking summer school and dorm fees are exorbitant. Jasmine and Kiara will finally have the big brothers they always dreamed of, although the transition will be comical to observe.
I stayed up until five in the morning packing and organizing. Everything was everywhere and I wasn't sure I would have enough space for everything I wanted to bring. I tend to over-pack, but in my defense, I've never been caught short on a trip without the necessary clothing or foot ware or equipment. In fact, I tend to become the go-to person for everyone else in my group. Tissues? Hand sanitizer? Ibuprofen? Go to Cheyanne. Extra sweater? Clean shirt? Chey's got one. I don't mind at all - I love helping out - but I don't appreciate the looks that other people have given me: the ones that spell out Basic White Girl in neon letters above my head. I'm anything but that, which is why I really don't care what they think.
I am a talented packer (so good, in fact, that Greenbay should draft me) and I fit everything in my suitcases easily. Then I weighed it. Fantastic. I was over by seven pounds. Not one or two... Seven. And it was five am. So I went to bed and decided to deal with it in the morning. When I got up, Mom was at the door of my room and I casually mentioned how heavy my suitcase was. She was more worried than I was, mostly because I was still half asleep, but she reorganized everything while I showered upstairs (because my shower was completely empty of soap, shampoo, etc.) and when I came downstairs again, she had configured it so that everything fit under the weight load. I don't know how she does it. She's amazing.
We leaped in the truck and drove to the dorm, dropping off breakfast for Braedan and saying goodbye. Then we went and got gas, almost got pulled over (shout out to the cop who got the guy behind us instead!), stopped at Peavy Mart for Kiara's rubber boots, then went to camp to pick up Daddy and a few things I had forgotten there. I said goodbye to Ziva and Misty and then we drove to the airport. All this is important because that's about all I remember. I was exhausted and half asleep the whole time.
My suitcase was underweight when we measured at the airport, so we transferred some stuff around to make my carry-on lighter. Then I ate my real breakfast (a bowl of Cheerios doesn't really count) with Mom and Daddy while people watching. You see some weird people in airports.
I forgot my phone in my back pocket as usual when going through security, but a couple going through the line next to mine forgot their set of cheese knives in their carry-on. They had to just leave it behind because they couldn't afford to check an extra suitcase. I knew how they felt, embarrassed and foolish for forgetting something like knives in their carry-on, because I forgot the ceremonial berber dagger I bought for Jasmine in Morocco when I flew back from Spain. But that's another story...
I got to the gate without a problem and boarded easily. Since Italy is eight hours ahead, it was already about ten pm there when I boarded and because I have school tomorrow (or a guess today?) I am not wanting to deal with jet lag at all, so I put on my headphones and sleep mask, wrapped up in my sweater and blankets and settled in to sleep for the whole flight so I would wake up in the morning, Italy time. 
Then the agony began. There is no leg room, and my knees jammed against the seat in front of me. Muscle cramps in my legs, lower back and shoulders, even my hands and ankles, made me constantly shift position. But worst of all - a shrieking child of five sat behind and one seat over from me. Her mother sat behind me and in her efforts to make her child quiet, she banged and jiggled my seat for eight hours, talked constantly and had lights on to let the little girl color. The man in front of me leaned his seat back and every time he shifted, my knees were banged. The man next to me had a nasty habit of elbowing me while he slept and talking loudly to the man next to him when he was awake. As a result, I drift in and out of an uncomfortable doze, only really sleeping once and waking up with a neck cramp when I did. Misery. I'm not one to complain much, but this was one of the worst flights I have ever suffered through.
The noise and bumping continues even now and since the little girl has made a friend, the two children are shrieking together! I cannot wait to get off this plane. Luckily, we land in Amsterdam in half an hour.