To my dear Slightly Scattered and Not Wholly With-it Self, as you wake with a start and realize that life is not a rehearsal and you're leaving the country very soonly, for two months,

You do realize don't you, that as you're lazing back in a king-sized bed at the house-sit you've been staying in for 3 weeks, with an artificial fire in front of you, laptop on the lap, coffee with cream, and toast with butter beside you, this picture of comfort and luxury won't last forever.

Outside it's windy and rainy, and normally if you weren't looking after a dog, you'd be taking your beloved beach cat for a walk.

In a little over two weeks, you do realize that the scene will be totally different? You will be in hot, dry Brazil, listening to the endless chatter of a million morning birds, reading your Bible, eating eggs from the farm and drinking black strong coffee filtered through a stocking. Hopefully still writing.

I cannot remind you often enough: two weeks. Is not. A lot. Of time.

The walk around the block with Chili, the rescued street dog, looks like this.

I'm not panicking, but I'm certainly not ready to go, either. This is the period before leaving when everything must get done, and all the little loose ends I've forgotten about must get wrapped up. Buying Brasilian reals. Finding my old phone with the Brasilian SIM card. Buying lenses I keep ogling but not committing to. Organizing my kit and making sure I have absolutely everything, including lots of batteries and plug ins and audio equipment and plastic baggies and tripods and all the little mounts and things needed to attach all the doo-dads and things together.

Get my harddrive back from my old laptop so I can take the music library that I accidentally deleted when formatting my new laptop.

Hard drives. Oh Jesus, the hard drives!! So much sorting needing to happen before I go. Transfer everything off the little portable ones on to big internal ones. Put all the work that I will need to take with me, back on the little ones. Back up stuff. Make lists of where everything is. Ahhhh.

Taxes. Corporate and personal. Receipts from the last Brazil trip I haven't dealt with yet.

Gardening. Throw more seeds in the ground. Clean up the cabin I rent and make it presentable for the landlords to come back to. Clean deck from old leaves. Get Secret Dan to mow lawn. Get my poor cat to the neighbour's to look after. Pick up blueberries from my ex's and re-pot before they die.

Horses. Make lists of all that needs to be done for them. Bake cookies for the open houses this weekend so everyone can meet them and I can wrangle more help for chores. Sign people up. Get phone numbers and emails. Make sure I have a line on hay and supplies. It's only two horses but by God they will be looked after thoroughly when I leave!

Work. Finish one sports sizzle reel. Finish another cheesemaking promo that's been in the works for a year. Finish a house builder's showreel. Polish, export, invoice.

Invoice for the other work I keep forgetting to invoice for, and make up new contract to log another filmmaker's footage WHILE I'M IN BRAZIL shooting another documentary and also editing the Dorothy documentary.

Clothes. Fuck. I may actually need a whole wardrobe, as I don't have anything but Irish wool sweaters and barn jeans left. What is a tee-shirt, again?

And food. Taking all the powdered vegetables I can carry because everything is poisoned with Round-up and pesticides down there. Also drinking all the beer I can because it's a dry farm. And that's not helping with the focus, Tobi. Come on. You know better.

Better get going. First order of business, as always, feed the horses. Then everything else will fall into place.

I hope.

Love from your Future, Hyper-organized Self in Total Control of All the Little Things

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