The night before.

AHASLKDJFLKASDNFSAIDFL;ASKDJFLIFENDSA.DSIDSFSENKV.DSFKSJDF;.

That's all I can manage.

The library in my carry-on grows.

...Or what if I love Murakami? What if I love him so much I - horror of horrors - FINISH the damn book in a month? THEN what will I do?

Crap. I'm going to need another back-up.

At least I'm not bringing Tolstoy.

As usual, the most important part of packing for this trip has become choosing which books I will bring with me. This is a crucial moment in the preparation process because I am basically determining which books will keep me company while I'm riding elephants and learning to cook a decent biryani. Do I want sci-fi, to provide a welcome distraction? Do I want a book about India, to really help me absorb the culture? Do I want a biography, to create a new best friend who will be by my side even when I'm wallowing in self-pity? Do I want comedy, to make me laugh? As you can see, this decision will determine my mood and my emotional well-being. It occurred to me far too late that I left my David Sedaris back at school. BUMMER. I think I've decided to bring my brand-new copy of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles by Murakami, which is an incredible risk. Yes it's 700 pages long, which means it'll take me the whole trip to finish it, but I've never read it before. What if I - gasp - HATE it? This is the only English recreational reading material I'll be bringing! What if it tanks? I'll be left with only my homework and my guide books for sustenance! I finally decided last night that just in case Murakami and I start flinging proverbial tomatoes, I'll be bringing Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone as a back-up. Can't go wrong with a myopic orphan who can talk to snakes.

I've been saying my last good-byes, which feel comfortingly impermanent. My mom keeps making That Face Moms Make When You're About to Leave For Four Months. A bubble of excitement is forming in my stomach that grows every morning. In a true sign of good fortune, I found a M*A*S*H* t-shirt at Buffalo Exchange the other day that I am SO TOTALLY bringing with me. My facial skin has decided to play the let's-add-stress-to-the-situation game, so I've got about ten new zits in a nice little constellation across my chin. If I squint, it reminds me of Sagittarius.

Is it weird that I can't picture my life past this Friday?

The host fam gives me a holler.

I have one week left until I leave for India, and the recent heat wave in P-town is driving me crazy. This does not bode well for my reaction to South Indian monsoon weather. As that most intelligent canine Scooby Doo always says, ruh-roh.

In other news, I've been hearing from my host family! They are of the Gujarati sect of Hinduism. No, I have no idea what that means, and yes, I should probably look it up on Wikipedia before I show up at their doorstep. The parents used to live in Mumbai before they peaced out for the south, probably because Mumbai is mucho peligroso. (As a side note: I've found that when I'm in a foreign country and I don't know the language, I often lapse into Spanish. This trip could be very confusing, linguistically speaking.) The mom went to college, and works as an aerobics instructor and a journalist. The dad used to own a textile business before switching to real estate, share marketing and finance. Their 24-year old daughter Meera graduated from college and works in business, and their 17-year old son Nihal is finishing his senior year in high school and likes to play PS-2, as his email to me dictated. The description of their living situation I received via email: "They have a very nice and well kept house."

In other words, I think I'm going to be living with the Indian bourgeoisie for the next four months.

Woah.

Oh, Bharat Ganarajya, you crack me up.

Indian visa: $108.

Japanese encephalitis vaccine: $135 per shot.

Knowing that in two weeks, you will be in a Third World subcontinent so full of mosquito-driven diseases that if you don't cover every inch of your body in a mosquito repellent strong enough to fuel the International Space Station, you WILL get malaria (or encephalitis, or typhoid, or yellow fever, or dengue fever, or polio) and you WILL die: priceless.

To be completely honest, I didn't really think this whole India thing through that well. I just looked at a map one day and saw India and I had this feeling. It was totally a "Matrix" blue pill/red pill moment. I had a feeling, so I picked the program that seemed the best and now here I am, five vaccines in and hitting warp nine with the freak-outs. Sometimes I feel like a total n00b in the face of all these other friends of mine who are going to Ecuador to study HIV in the rainforests to further their medical careers. But then again, I am completely oblivious in the face of my future, whereas they've already picked out which strain of HIV they will specialize in. Also they have med school to contend with. No, gracias.

Let's just hope my "destiny" doesn't end like Neo's. I'd rather not get riddled with bullets in a broken-down building where no one will ever find me, thank you very much.