At around the 13th or 14th hour of sitting in a tin in the sky I realised what the nervous energy I kept feeling was. When I left my parents at security; tired, sad and maybe a little scared I didn’t really manage to settle down until a few hours into the first leg of the journey but that odd, inexplainable feeling still stuck around and now I realise it’s the fight or flight thing. That constant mix between wanting to escape and pushing myself to keep going has just circled me this whole time, ok so it’s impossible to actually escape the flying incubus of ick but that’s probably why the feeling is there, right?
The first flight was easy, 6 and half simple hours of dozing off in a row all to myself. I didn’t read any of the 20 new books I downloaded, nor did I watch any of the 3 seasons worth of Friends episodes I downloaded onto my iPhone. Nope, too restless, so I sprawled out and did my best to nod off as often as possible.
Landing in Dubai was thankfully short lived, it was hard enough having to wait around for 45 minutes to board the next flight so i’m grateful my stop over wasn’t any longer. So far so good.
I’m now 5 hours and 10 minutes away from Sydney, sitting next to a very well behaved little girl with possibly the smelliest feet ever, and this is coming from someone who had to odor-eater her work heels daily. Dude they hum. I’ve managed to sleep a little and the only film i’ve managed to watch the whole way through is a Zac Efron movie because it would be sacriledge to cut him off half way through. Now i’m sitting in the dark, kind of wishing i had a blocked nose and willing time forward a little.
My emotions are everywhere at the moment and I already miss my family. Part of me thinks this is all a mistake. Everyone says you never regret travelling, that everything will be the same when I return but what if it isn’t? I don’t want to be forgotten about! Although I should probably see if I can make it the week before I worry about things like that.
