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I hate travelling At times I think to myself, what the fuck am I getting myself into? I'm going to a different hemisphere by myself. I don't even like going to restaurants by myself. What will I eat? I'll never talk to anyone, so I won't meet anybody. I'll probably get hit in the head by a flying drumstick at the first concert and I'll spend the next two weeks in a hospital in a coma. At least then I won't have to worry about going to restaurants by myself, since I'll be fed intravenously. These are the cities I'm going to: Brisbane, Sydney, Adelaide, Melbourne, and various random towns on the way from Brisbane to Sydney. These are the concerts I'm going to: Brisbane 1, Sydney 2 & 3, Adelaide, Melbourne 1 & 3. These are the concerts I could potentially go to but as of now am not: Brisbane 2, Sydney 1, Melbourne 2. I considered trying to get tickets for these shows as well, but hey, six shows is enough, for this leg of the tour at least. I shouldn't be greedy. I should let the other kids get a chance to see my favorite band. I leave Tuesday. I packed my backpack last week to see how heavy/full it would be, and it seemed fine. I walked all the way downstairs and back upstairs with it on. I have money. I have confirmation numbers. I have an ETA visa. I have a plane ticket. I have sunscreen. I have a camera. I don't have high speed film yet. I have laundry detergent tabs. Shoes. Swimsuit. Books to read. Travelogue to write in. Tylenol. Face washing apparatuses. Need to remember razor, towel, deoderant, personal secret feminine toiletries. Need to finish a thesis draft.
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