trahern

Heading off to Portugal in about four hours. Never can sleep the night before a flight. Once I get going it's not so bad, once I'm there I'm more comfortable with the fact that I actually have to interact with family. It's the waiting, isn't it?

I suspect the only thing missing is mortal terror, and then I'd know what so many soldiers felt before they probably got killed.

Frelling waiting. Frelling airports. Frelling waiting at airports. Frelling security. Depending on your fellow passengers, frelling airplanes. Frelling airplane food.

Frelling cousin that schedules the damn flight so I have to be on a train to London, then the underground, when everyone's going to frelling work. Also for making the stay a few days longer than a week.

I hate suitcases. I walk to the train station, use the subway. I hate dragging the damn things, the ground is typically treachorous. I use a backpack. I can't stuff two weeks of clothes in my backpack. Eleven days. Nine if you don't count days involving planes. Frel.

No, I'm not done packing.

Turning 30 among what little family I have left. I've been told nothing changes. For some reason I expect to return home with a walking stick.