makes no sense at all

I’m flying to Miami this evening. And I feel like I’m going to throw up. My palms are sweaty. My stomach is in knots. My mind won’t stop racing. I literally feel like a bundle of nerves. I keep telling myself to just breathe. Everything is going to unfold as it should. You’ve done all you can do. The rest is just going through the process and waiting to see how everything turns out. But a few moments after I’ve taken some deep breaths to enhance my calm, my restless mind is back at it again.

Tomorrow I go to the Spanish Consulate just outside of Miami to apply for my visa. The application itself is a daunting process that might make anyone more than a little bit nervous. But my particular visa application experience is even more nerve-wracking since I only have 3 full weeks between my application date and my (alleged) departure date for Spain. For the life of me, I still can’t figure out how this happened, when I started planning for this so early.

Back in early October, I made my original appointment at the Consulate for mid-October. This, however, was before I realized that I would need to gather documentation from everyone and God to take with me for the appointment. It was also before I realized that I would have to travel all the way to South Florida to present said documentation. I decided to reschedule for a later date. A quick look at the Consulate’s calendar revealed that the months of November and December were wide open for appointment slots. “Cool,” I thought. “I’ll just check back in a week or two after I’ve made more progress with my paperwork, and reschedule for late November or early December.” Bad decision. When I did check back about a week and a half later, every date was booked up until mid-December, well after the date that my program coordinator had suggested was advisable in order to ensure the Consulate would have enough time to process my application.


I went ahead and took the next available slot, but over the next couple of weeks, I called the Consulate every other day asking if there were any cancellations or openings for an earlier date. There weren’t.


Ok, then. So this it’s how it’s going to be? Fine. Bring it. I recalled that Dominique and a couple of other program participants had said that it had only taken 2 weeks to receive their visas back from the Consulate, so I held on to that as my one glimmer of hope. 2 weeks. 2 weeks.
Since then, it’s become a sort of mantra for me. As I’ve crossed off every item on the list of documents that I needed to procure or provide, I’ve just kept saying it over and over to myself, as if saying the words will make everything alright. Despite the program coordinator’s advice to hold off on buying my plane ticket to Spain until after the visa appointment, I went ahead and purchased. Those prices weren’t going down any time soon. And besides… 2 weeks.

So here I am, with my overnight bag packed, my packet of documents printed, copied, stapled, and signed; preparing to head to sunny Miami with an invisible cloud of dread and trepidation over my head. I feel like a soldier heading into battle for the first time (kinda like Denzel in that scene from Glory); I feel like how I used to feel just before I had to go to confession, (Forgive me, Father, for being a procrastinator); I feel… like this:

“How in the hell do we get ourselves in these situations?”

Wish me luck.

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