Okay. I’m not literally packing. I’m metaphorically packing. Making a list of the people and places I will miss and realizing that I am going to be a fish out of water, like that British chick who sings the theme song for the new incarnation of Degrassi: The Next Generation. (Yes, there’s a new incarnation of a show that was a new incarnation of a classic Canadian soap opera.) As September 24th gets closer, I realize that I will know nobody in England besides an Uncle I’ve never met before. This is exciting; I think a year away will give me a new perspective on shit. This is terrifying; I’m a Floridian at Oxford who always always always gets in trouble when he sleeps with upper class gentlemen. Who always goes back to upper crust butt holes for more shame and self-loathing, because twenty minutes in their bed, putting them down while making them want me, gives me power until they cum and throw me out their door. I’ve also realized that I will miss the premier of not one but TWO trashy Lindsay Lohan movies. God help me.