I never thought I'd make it to France. Even as the leaving date grew closer, it didn't seem like I was actually going to get on a plane and leave the country. When Dad drove me to the airport, it didn't seem real. When I got my boarding pass, it didn't seem real. When I had to get a pat down because the metal detector thought I was packing some heat, it didn't seem real. When I got on the plane, it didn't seem real. When I landed, it didn't seem real. But when I was waiting in a kilometer long customs line? You bet your ass it was real then.
On my last day in Boston, it rained like the whole state of Massachusetts was sad to see me go. There were great bolts of lightening, overflowing drains, and mini flash floods. It didn't stop until I left. Now, I know weather patterns are in no way influenced by a a human being coming or going from a specific geographical location, but just let me have this one.