It makes me nervous to give up my passport. I feel like one of the folks in Casablanca, waiting waiting. It’s not that I imagine I might have to suddenly jump on a plane and leave the country in the middle of the night.
But I feel as if some essential part of me has been handed off into the void. It was necessary: my passport expires in May and I already have my ticket to go back to Scotland (of course). There should be plenty of time, yet it’s impossible not to image things going awry.
I like having all the stamps that show places I’ve been: in and out of the UK, to Switzerland this year and Italy before that, back to Finland and my 2-page visa for Ireland. I want to add even more in the next one and made sure to order the thicker book.
I wish I could get a Norwegian passport: the new American ones are so hideous you’d think they were designed by someone in Duck Dynasty or some other ‘murrican sort of group. I don’t suppose I’m allowed to cover it with Hello Kitty stickers. Alas.