Travelling Idiosyncrasies

This is a scheduled post, so I feel like I’m talking to you in some kind of time loop. I’m speaking to you now, but writing this a week ago. I’ll spend near thirty hours travelling and plane-hopping but will get back ten hours via the magic of time lines. It’s all very wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey.

Sorry if you were expecting this to be the beginning of my Objectivity series of blog posts. They will come, I promise, but for the moment my head is in a travel mode. This trip is a big deal. As a self confessed solitude-craving hoarder who spends my time happily pottering at home, I don’t travel.  I just don’t. My friends did the travel thing in their twenties, but I’ve always been more cautious and less impulsive, I’ve always wanted security over experience.  And since I never undertake anything spontaneously, we’ve been working towards this trip for about three years. We finally booked the tickets last May and we’ve been plodding along quite nicely until a few weeks ago and I had this thought: “Oh my God, we leave when?”

My husband and I have descended into a happy kind of madness. I find myself looking at compression socks, borrowing suitcases and worry about buying products I may never use again.  Like a neck pillow. As soon as I had it out of the packaging my husband comically stuck it over his head and looked like an overgrown Teletubby. I laughed and decided I’d already had my money’s worth. In addition, I decided to schedule blog posts for while I’m away, which was fine when I still had months left. I’ve subsequently  sacrificed a week or two of my regular posts trying to write posts for my absence which is robbing Peter to pay Paul in a temporal rift. What was I thinking?

In other forms of madness, I walked into the lounge room to find my husband plastering over a crack we’ve had in our wall for at least two years. Random. I’m not being ungrateful, it’s awesome – take that you dastardly subsidence!   And then my mind back-flips and I remember my parents are house and cat sitting while we are away – suddenly all the things wrong with our little home are amplified. The invisibly awkward and inconvenient little things are now screaming, ‘Change me!’ and ‘Fix me!’  like a niggling toothache that’s now a socking great cavity. We started writing an instruction manual for living in our home but it reads more like an apology.

“…Don’t worry if the washing machine makes a repetitive ‘thunk’ in the final cycle – it always does that. The hot and cold positions on the tap in the kitchen are marked back to front, ‘up’ is actually hot. Watch the ‘menu’ key on the alarm keypad – sometimes thinks it’s a number and sets the alarm off. The lock on the side door only works if you pull up on the doorknob…”

The cat has a whole page dedicated to his ‘special requirements’. For example, when he wants a drink he jumps into the bath and meows. He has water in his drinking bowl but that doesn’t count, that’s hours old –  he wants only the freshest of fresh water and he wants it in the bath. With him. Neow.

While you’re sitting there thinking about the idiosyncrasies of your home, I’ll be off and on a plane trying to enjoy the experience. Enjoy? ‘Rationalise’ is probably a better verb, since I’m a control freak with a mild case of claustrophobia. You know the stuff, “I’m more likely to have a car accident getting to the airport” and the kind of truth that will freak me out when I next get into a car.

Objectivity starts next week, and I’ll be back in six.

*Happy dance*


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