Pre-trip Freak Out

I’ve been “planning” this trip for less than a month and now, 10 days away from departure, it’s still shockingly unreal.  My level of freak-out, however, has increased exponentially the closer my departure date gets and the frequency with which people ask: “are you so excited?” “are you ready?” “where are you going?” “wait…you’re really going by yourself?”.  Yes, of course I’m excited, as any moron should be when embarking on a two-month trek into the unknown (though it be to the well-sojourned territory of Europe).  No, I’m not ready and do not anticipate feeling “ready” at any time in the next 10 days.  I have a valid passport (which is significant, since I almost didn’t…sneaky expiration rules: I shake my fist at you!) and some money and that’s about it (and am beginning to argue/justify to myself that that’s really all I need).  I have no concrete idea as to where I’m going.  I know that I fly in and out of Munich and I’m spending the first 5 of my 62 days in that city.  After that…I’m adrift to wherever the whim of St. Christopher and my imagination takes me.  Yes, I’m going alone.  But I’m not an idiot, so please don’t expound on the dangers of being a single woman traveling through Eastern Europe alone.  I don’t want to add more things to my list of stuff of which I should be afraid.  My overall feeling thus far, though, has been one of pure unadulterated terror when I focus too much on the logistics of this trip.  What the hell was I thinking, effectively quitting my job in a shitty economy and spending all my money (and I do, quite literally, mean all) on a two-month trek to another continent where I don’t know anyone and have no distinct itinerary, where the exchange rate is currently shit, where I’ll be alone with only my brain for company (and I can get so tired of listening to myself) for two whole months?  WTF!?!  I don’t know how to do this, I don’t know how public transportation works in the States, let alone a foreign country where I don’t (even remotely) speak the language, I don’t know how to exchange money or make sure I’m not getting screwed over on cab fare or pomegranates at the market.  I’m effectively clueless.  It’s this line of thinking that usually instigates the panic attack and I have to reach for the omnipresent brown paper bag so I don’t pass out.  But then, when my breathing has regulated a bit and the tunnel vision has receded, I mentally slap myself.  Relax.  Breathe.  Because this is going to be awesome.