On preparing to leave
I started packing today. Sorting through my drawers and throwing out stuff I don’t want, and packing away things I want to keep but won’t use any time soon.
I’ve always felt like I’ve had one foot out the door at any given time, but this is different. Europe has broken me. The coronavirus has broken me. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than home and it took being cut off to realise.
I have barely left the house in two months. Maybe longer. I was musing with Shawn today that I miss “places”. The thrill of being somewhere else for a bit. Somewhere not “indoors” in this tiny box with a computer in it.
Two computers. I don’t know what to do about work, but I hope I can swing a remote gig. I don’t know when I’ll even be able to get home. The “last” Qantas flight out of London leaves tomorrow and it’s full, I checked just in case. The other day I broke down on a call to Shawn because part of me wonders if I’ll ever get home at all.
Someone is having a party and I need to get to sleep because I have work tomorrow. I put on a thunderstorm over the speakers tonight to drown out the music