At the cumulation of this festival of farewell, I crawled into my bed at 1am this morning for what I thought would be the last time for three months. I'd said my goodbyes to all the unbelievably wonderful people that make up this Melbourne life, feeling loved and a little giddy but satisfied that all was in order for departure.
As mentioned previously, I'm a terribly organised person. In preparation for this trip for example, I've been known to set an alarm as a reminder to put washing on - to ensure sufficient drying time prior to packing. I've copied my itinerary, passport, credit cards and insurance documents to send to my parents and select friends.
That's why when K said to me this morning 'now I don't want you to be alarmed', I was only mildly panicked. Why would I be alarmed? The washing is dry, the suitcase at the correct weight.
Unfortunately my organisation doesn't extend to the basic laws of telling the time. As K patiently explained the nature of the 24 hour clock, my stomach lurched and I had the upsetting realisation that I'd missed my flight. I feebly protested that nothing flies at 2.30am - knowing all the while that I'd stuffed up.
The airline told me to call STA to try and re-book. The thought that I was never going to get out of this town had me in a small state of hysteria. My small state rapidly turned into a large state when I had to endure the following voice message from those zany kids at STA; 'Oh hi! You've called STA Travel. We can't answer your call right now because we're not in the office - we're most likely in the pub! Be sure to call us back...etc. etc.'
So, here I wait. If nothing else, I can be confident that I can successfully organise another farewell breakfast...
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