Notes on a small town

As I run around getting things ready, I realize that this is the most I've interacted with the community in, probably, years. Sure, I've lived here during breaks and such, but I've not really been a part of the community since I graduated high school. Most of my time has been spent in Athens. But now, I've gone to see the doctor, gone to the pharmacy to get my prescriptions for three months, gone to the bank to get traveler's cheques and yen for the first few days in Japan, and gone down to the John and Annie Glenn Historic Site to get things for my speech to the elementary school kids. Thus far, not one person has failed to wish me a good flight, or told me to keep in touch, or asked me to bring in pictures when I come back. Everyone has told me to have fun. Everyone has shaken my hand and treated me like an adult. It's a transition that has taken some getting used to: the transition from "Alan's boy" to "Jonathan."

I'm also starting to get sick of the smell of paint. From the moment I wake up until the moment I sleep, I smell paint. The basement was painted with oil-based so it reeks of that. Even my freshly washed clothes smell like fuel oil. The new house smells like latex-based paint, which is worse in some regards, since I'm allergic.

It still doesn't seem real that I'm going to be thousands of miles away for an extended period of time.

I should probably pack.