Travel weary
It seems somewhat churlish to complain about being tired of travelling around, not working, doing what you want, but anyone who has had the privilege of travelling for a while will know it comes, and it's certainly come to me. With a week before I fly out and the prospect of a house to unpack during the build-up, driving straight out to Lajamanu for Milpirri and starting work there the following week, I'm feeling totally exhausted.
The trip across was meant to be a leisurely commute and, while it was, I'd envisaged the European part as being a bit more directionless and leisurely and a bit less communte than the journey up and across from Timor. But, places to be, people to see, and suddenly you're spending a day here, two there, overnight on the train and, what seemed like a rationale and not too taxing way of getting about becomes, after week after week, draining. Since August I haven't spent more than three nights in any one spot and even three nights has been rare.
After a while you're just going through the motions, moving through landscape and cityscape numbly, trying to be interested, looking but not really seeing, really just wanting to sit down and do nothing ... so that's what I've done today, from lunch to dinner and beyond, sat in the front room of a pub in Killorglin, in county Kerry, in southern Ireland. Outside it's rainy and blowy, inside the sport's on the tv, the punters come and go on a quiet Monday and I sit and catch up on reading and writing and zoning out.
So, if you're at home, sitting quietly, contentedly, be glad!
Or if not, at least we can envy each other.