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What little time remains

Being that the calendar has just turned the page to December 1, I have roughly 29 hours to get my shit together for this three–month trip of mine. As usual, I’m far from prepared; and as usual, I’m far from stressed about it. Sometimes I worry about my attitude towards life. The “she’ll be right, mate” (translation: “it’ll work itself out”) culture bred in Australia —Western Australia in particular— may have had a lasting effect on me, and it will probably affect my international relations for many years to come, but when I consider all those far–away people with high–stress lives in high–stress cities I thank my lucky stars.

My to–do list consists of the purchase of a few simple requirements like a non–electric (for no–adaptor–required fun) toothbrush, some non–aerosol (for explosive–decompression–avoiding fun) roll–on deodorant, a power adaptor or two (the Apple world travel kit is alluring, but impractical), and the packing of my backpack. I must then, of course, transfer about seven hours of footage from Mini–DV cassette to VHS before I leave, and do the usual “get fucked up with the boys” going–away thing that we do for everybody’s departure (Scotty’s, for example) tomorrow afternoon. Then we play the waiting game for Qantas flight 574.

While I think about it, I’m considering doing without sleep tomorrow night. After all, my plane flies out at 6:00 AM Perth time, flails about in the sky for the better part of a day, then lands in Los Angeles at 10:00 AM LA time the same calendar day. If I don’t sleep the night before my flight, polish off a few glasses of merlot on the plane, and sleep the bulk of the flight away I should (should) arrive refreshed in the city of angels with body clock prepped for local time. Should.

Well, we can hope.