Dear Diary

tick tock, it’s fuck this shit o’clock

Lately there’s been something so traumatic about travel. I don’t know what it is, probably just me being stuck in a cosy mossy swamp that is my comfort zone. Probably just this idea of giving up control, and be at the mercy of airlines, railroads, and people I’ll be staying with. Whatever it is, one thing is certain – my flight departs in about 7 hours, so that means that I need to be at the airport in 5, leave in 4, I’ll be gone for two weeks, and not a smidgen, not a modicum, not a stroke of fuck was given about the packing. Granted, I don’t have much to pack. My t-shirts are still drying, my souvenirs are few by the request of recipients, I plan on taking one pair of additional footwear. I could probably stuff all that shit in my ‘personal item’ if I were so willing.

I could be done with it in 10 minutes.

I read somewhere that we procrastinate on shit and self-sabotage ourselves, because it gives us the illusion of control over the outcome. I don’t do anything, so nothing will get done. Bam. This sounds backwards, but this is also very true. The familiar outcome of ‘shit didn’t change’. If shit changes, it will be unfamiliar. If I do something, even if I control the ACTION of DOING IT, the OUTCOME is going to be DIFFERENT from BUGGER ALL CHANGED. And that is terrifying.

But isn’t that what I want? A different outcome to ‘fuck-all happened’.

I’ll think about the gravity of this discovery as I’ll be packing up the three pairs of underwear and DSLR.

In other, yet still related, news – each act of travel has been accompanied by an all-nighter lately. Shouldn’t a traveller be well-rested before their jolly exploration of new places? And I’m not 18 any longer, I can’t run on redbulls and goodwill. I can’t even run on espressos, green smoothies, and a prayer. Like in all the good memes, I need a special pillow and a triple dose of melatonin.

(Which has just reminded me to add medication to the three pairs of underwear and DSLR that I plan on packing.)

Yet here I am. I might just sleep the 2 hours that it takes to arrive in Berlin. Then I might sleep 1 hour on the train to my ultimate destination, though that’s a little bit more dangerous, in more way than one.

It’s 6 o’clock, so it’s official – I need to start packing.