Writing this post, I’ve just returned from
my last appointment of injections and as a treat I’ve got myself my last fish
and chips for the next 3 months. This last week has been filled with “Last
Suppers”. Takeaways with friends, mac & cheese and as my final FINAL supper
on Tuesday night, a Tuesday roast (it’s not actually my last supper, but I
think I’ll be too nervous to eat anything the night before).
Having returned from Tunisia, last Friday,
Saturday was a rush of throwing sun creams, insect repellent, antibacterial hand
gel and various medicine in the shopping basket in Boots, travel towels, sleeping bag liners, water purifiers and padlocks in the basket in Cotswolds and Cup’a’Soup and
Malteaser hot chocolate in the basket in Tesco. Trying to work out how many
insect repellent sprays I’ll need for the next 10 weeks is actually harder than
it sounds - I went for 9 cans just to be safe - and I’ve not spent so much time contemplating between chicken, chicken noodle or mushroom Cup'a'Soup - I went for a selection of all three. The dining room has been converted into a packing room, all of Saturdays toiletries shopping on the right, clothes on the dining table, shoes, hats, and miscellaneous on the chairs. It's now time to start packing.
My nerves have amplified as my final days
in the UK disappear and then constantly fluctuate between nerves, impatience
and excitement. I feel very weird, as if I’m in no mans land. Not enough time
to really do anything but so much time to fill before my flight on Thursday.
Deflation is the word I think I’d use. I’ve been so busy the previous couple
of months and now I have nothing else to say or do except get on the Liberia
bound plane. I could try and find something else to buy or get to be ready but
there comes a point when I have to just stop.
Say goodbye.
And leave.
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