My nerves are buzzing at the tips of my fingers

What leaving for Ukraine entails.

Fearless reporting, a behind-the-curtains look at how journalism is made — and an unabashed point of view. Welcome to Chills.

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Heading back to Ukraine next week. Here’s the “Motherland” statue in Kyiv. (Artem Hvodzdkov)

My puppy is tearing apart a neon-orange plastic flip-flop I haven’t worn in probably a decade. I used to swim every day for years in New York City — this was from then. Xavier’s been driving me batshit with little yips and grunts and high-pitched barks all morning so I’m like, have at it.

He’s been going bananas as I’ve been searching for my keys, deciding that everything I touch also must go in his mouth. I’ve combed through my house three times, minimum. I mean, I’ve opened every drawer, looked in the trash, in all kinds of bags I haven’t touched in months. No go. I’m thinking the puppy hid them somewhere — I don’t lose things. All I know is that I let myself into my house yesterday, and, later, was on my way out with Xavier and they were gone. Gone, gone, gone, like my brain these days.

I write this as the sudden, universe-ripping screech of the National Wireless Emergency Alert System sounds. And now I write this as the eternally deafening roar of a way-too-loud scheduled test of my building’s fire alarms blare, sending X into apartment-circling zoomies.

To my left, my pup is again tearing apart the plastic bag that held my cheap flip-flops. My brain is still recovering from all the wailing sirens. As someone who was diagnosed late in life as pretty severely ADHD, I’ve been losing my grip on order these days. It’s because each day this month brings me one day closer to an intense reporting trip I feel unprepared for.

It’s currently three days before I leave for Poland, then Ukraine.

To say my nerves are…nervous…is an understatement.

Involved in packing in a massive suitcase that belongs to my father (I usually travel much lighter):

1.     Body armor: vest, helmet, first aid kit

2.     Clothing I will likely barely wear (I always end up in the same few items while the rest languishes)

3.     Medications with carry-on backups/toiletries

4.     Tech everything (I bought a cable organizer finally, so I’m hoping that will help)

5.     Presents for friends

The biggest part of this huge equation is the story I want to report. It may well become multiple stories. I can tell you that I never put early morning calls to lawyers in the Belarusian opposition abroad on my Bingo card, but neither did I ever put calls to colleagues at a chimpanzee preserve in the Democratic Republic of Congo or hours spent in a sweltering refugee tent with a bunch of Syrian men in white showing me phone videos of murders on my card either.

That’s what I love about this job: It takes you places you never expected and meeting people you never knew. Which, although wonderful, is supremely nerve-wracking when you are trying to plan out who to interview in your limited time period in a particular country.

My nerves are buzzing at the tips of my fingers. I’ll check in with you soon, and I’m pretty positive I will have forgotten something small but crucial (backup camera battery? Ech, I guess much is easily replaceable).

Looking forward to buying jar upon jar of Ukrainian ajvar and guessing at other groceries I may or may not like. I’ll write to you soon. First, from Auschwitz, then from the overnight train to Kyiv and beyond. See you then.

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