The day I left for Mexico was a nerve-wracking day. I had already been away from home for almost 2 months – visiting my dad in Vegas. I had packed my backpack, plus a suitcase and a carry-on. The suitcase was staying behind with my dad; he was planning on visiting me once I got a little more settled.
I don’t remember what time of day I left, I just remember sitting in the airport, watching the clock, checking and double checking that I had my passport, money, cards, the name of the hotel and my rough plans written in my horribly illegible writing – really, it’s bad enough that I should seriously consider being a doctor.
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