In my family there is a long history of leaving obsessively early for any distance of travel. I remember when I was a small child while we still lived in Greensboro, when my mother would get us up early (at four or five am) to drive down to Grandmomma’s house. Or when as a teenager, we asked dad when we were planning to leave the house to go on vacation, and we knew to set the time fifteen minutes earlier than what he had stated (making it 5:45 instead of six o’clock). I came to the regular practice while in Kenya of waking up so that I was on the side of the road waiting for a Matatu at first light (sometimes a bit before) so that I could hope to arrive in Nairobi before a major jam.
This morning, as I was setting my alarm for when I would wake up, though it was already 1a, I set it for 6:30a, because I wanted to be absolutely sure that I was in time to get the key to my new apartment. As it turned out, I was a full hour earlier than I needed to be, so I stopped by my old house, to pick up some things from my old roommates. It also allowed me to have a leisurely breakfast sitting outside on my new picnic table, reading a mystery novel as I waited.
Fear not, after I had moved some things in, taken a shower because I was too sweaty, done a little of the work that I needed to do on my video project, had lunch, and stopped by the Duke library to get a book (finally! They had World Without End), a food coma set in, and I took a nice long nap. But I was here on time!