England is Calling.

I’m not fearless.

I am calculating and cautious; a self preservationist at her finest.  The most spontaneous I get is taking a different route to the bathroom.  What a renegade.  I over-analyze: “what if… what if…” And much like Sean Bean, I always die at the end.

Nothing makes me anxious like stepping out of my comfort zone.  As a twenty one-year-old cried in line for the Tower of Terror.  I auditioned for You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown with such panic they asked if I needed an ambulance.  I made a D in Real Analysis, all because I’d show up late, terrified to present my proofs.

Granted, they were really ugly proofs.

I’ve had wanderlust for a long time.  But I’ve always had an excuse not to travel: money and my lack thereof.  Or so I tell myself.  More so, it’s that step into the unknown that holds me back.

Let’s bring us to the now:

J.K. Rowling is releasing a play called Harry Potter and the Cursed Child – a sequel to the Harry Potter series.  As an avid Potterphille and theatre junkie, I was disheartened to know that I’d never have the opportunity to see it.

Regardless, out of kicks and giggles, I signed up to receive emails about Priority Tickets.

When I received one saying that I could get tickets at 11 GMT (7 EST), I was indifferent but I thought I’d give a try.  I’d be up anyway, work was slow, I’d hate myself if I didn’t try.

When I started I was in the queue, with over 16,000 people in front of me.  With a light chortle, I kept the window opened and went about my business.  About an hour later, I was at 5,000 – or 28 minutes.

It was one of those moments where you don’t think.  An opportunity opens up and you decide to go with it, because why not?


“You’ve done it!”  I’ve done something alright.

Of course, after alerting the Twitter masses of my reckless purchase I had to cover some bases:

And analyze my feelings:

So: I guess I’m going to England.  Or – I can easily return them for full price come December, so there is an “out,” if you will.  But golly – I’d sure like to try and make it work.  To quote my cousin:  “You can do it!  Where’s that feminist gusto?!”

And I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’ve already picked up my passport paperwork.

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Curmudgeonly cat lady living in the mountains of North Carolina. Occasional artist, former thespian, unwitting mathematician, constant explorer. Collects hobbies and drinks tea.

5 thoughts on “England is Calling.”

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