I climbed into my gas guzzling SUV (did you realize that gas is $3.19 in Highland Park?!?!) and began re-adjusting the AC vents to my liking. Another driver had taken it upon himself to point ALL the vents on him in the previous excursion so that when I climbed into the drivers seat and started the car I was immediately transported to Antarctica.

The aforementioned driver stood on the street curb and waived good bye as I drove away. I began thinking about the fact that his leisure reading has more of a life than I do. Over the course of the next six weeks, his books (and a relatively small amount of other appointments) will travel a quarter of the way around the globe and experience the "magical place" that is Africa.

I reminded myself that the Africa he will experience is nothing like 'Hotel Rwanda'. That, in theory, he's only hours six away. That internet cafes exist on every street corner. And then I'm not sad. Really, I never was sad to begin with - but I wanted to allow myself that liberty if I felt so led.

We had talked about this for months. About the fact that if something happens he'll be air lifted out at a moments notice. About the opportunity for him to get flight time while he's there. About my zebra rug!

But it still felt eery to know that once he leaves the city of Windhoek we'll have no contact for 14 days. Nothing. Not even a little peep. That's a looooooong time for two people who talk every day.

And then I was struck with the awe of how small the world really is. It such an increasingly small place. But not so small - that two fiction books can take the trip of a lifetime.