Still here. In this office seat with the plastic wheels and the incorrect height, with a problem between my 5th and 6th vertebrae of my neck. Looking at Tesco receipts and travel guides and lists and lists and a trillion different little items I'm not sure whether to dump now or skvetch away for later. Just in case. Always just in case.
Do I really need to hang onto instructions for a toothbrush?
What about all these pens? Are they dried out already?
More stacks of postcards that never made it into picture frames, from other holidays of memento-gathering and sunburning. Six months on the other side of the planet seems so much longer than six months here. Of course if I stayed those things would just sit there, getting dustier and inevitably finding their purpose on a rainy day. Right now, though, they are just material distractions from the Big Tasks.
Travel Insurance.
Packing.
Using Up This Large Jar Of Split Yellow Peas.
Life is nowt much more than a constant aching fear that I have missed something so very important. We had 26 weeks when we booked these flights. Now? Just over 10. Still sitting here in my dressing gown after 14 weeks and each tiny activity merits a whole bullet point of its own on the A3 sheet stuck to the fridge door.
A man bellowing "I WANT BLOOD, I WANT BLOOD" from Bankmore Square Park helpfully restores a little perspective. How likely I am to hear "QUIERO SANGRE, QUIERO SANGRE" in the dusty squares of South America? Even less in a thick Belfast accent.
Do I really need to hang onto instructions for a toothbrush?
What about all these pens? Are they dried out already?
More stacks of postcards that never made it into picture frames, from other holidays of memento-gathering and sunburning. Six months on the other side of the planet seems so much longer than six months here. Of course if I stayed those things would just sit there, getting dustier and inevitably finding their purpose on a rainy day. Right now, though, they are just material distractions from the Big Tasks.
Travel Insurance.
Packing.
Using Up This Large Jar Of Split Yellow Peas.
Life is nowt much more than a constant aching fear that I have missed something so very important. We had 26 weeks when we booked these flights. Now? Just over 10. Still sitting here in my dressing gown after 14 weeks and each tiny activity merits a whole bullet point of its own on the A3 sheet stuck to the fridge door.
A man bellowing "I WANT BLOOD, I WANT BLOOD" from Bankmore Square Park helpfully restores a little perspective. How likely I am to hear "QUIERO SANGRE, QUIERO SANGRE" in the dusty squares of South America? Even less in a thick Belfast accent.
Ah, the tuneage that was created in that wee room. I look forward to composing more mad songs in the next locale...
ReplyDeleteYour out of limbo now mate. Prepare for the foreign!