So it's officially four weeks until I leave for the UK for ten months...shit.
It's quite a scary thought now that I think about it, even though it won't feel real to me until I step onto the aeroplane at 3:25pm on Sunday September the 1st. I can't tell if this feeling, or these thoughts inside my head, are excitement, or a sense of dread/worry about the unknown. Knowing me, it's probably a mixture of both, but with a definite lean towards the latter.
As I said before, it still doesn't feel real to me, even though I've now completed all the necessary steps to going on exchange. I've wrestled with visa applications, and been approved. I've wrestled with accommodation options, and been approved. I've wrestled with Monash's Arts Exchange Advisor person, or whatever her title is, many, many (x10) times and finally, FINALLY, got everything sorted (you don't know her, but she's a real pain. I've often day-dreamed about storming into her office and giving her a piece of my mind - but, alas, that hasn't come to fruition as a result of my fear of what she'll say to me). I've said nasty things to the Qantas website, given in to it, and forked out ridiculous amounts of money. I've done everything I'm meant to do!
But yes despite all these hassles, in four weeks I'll be heading off to London, with my mum of course (we all need our mums sometimes). I'll be spending approximately twenty four hours sitting in an uncomfortable position, eating terrible food, watching episodes of The Simpsons I've seen ten times before, and watching terrible movies which I'll regret watching because they were such a waste of time, when I could have spent that time doing something constructive - like actually reading Anna Karenina, which I've been saying I'll do for far too long. The thing about watching terrible films during the flight happened to me last time I went to the UK. I wasted my time watching 17 Again, and four years later, I still regret it.
Maybe it's becoming a bit more real now that I've typed all of this out.
