In the last six months I haven't been anywhere as busy as I have been in these last few days, even when I was working 80 hours a week (I use the term 'working' loosely, loitering in the cath labs may be a more accurate description). It is entirely possible that choosing to go on a drunken festival holiday to Spain a week before leaving may not have been the best idea, but it was one of the most legendary weeks i've ever spent so i'll forgive the nine legendary souls that dragged me there.
Leaving work (tears), and saying goodbye to my family and friends (even more tears) were the things that were most important to me so everything else i.e. selling my car, buying shoes that won't shred my feet, has been left to the last minute. I have literally just finnished packing and there's less than twelve hours to go before I leave. It hasn't really sunken in yet, however I have been nursing a stomach ache for the past four days which i'm guessing is nerves (Not alcohol withdrawal from Beni).
At the moment I'm mostly freaked about leaving all you guys at home. Contracting dysentry from a canine-based kebab or being blinded by dodgy vodka does not at the moment worry me as much as the thought of being away from all the people I love for so long. Not even the fact that I have no job and am not even registered to nurse in Australia yet. It dosen't bother me that I don't have a car or more than four pairs of pants to my name! However I can't think of two more capable hombres to travel the world with, and i'm excited as hell. I'm going to have a roast dinner sandwich before bed then it's hey ho lets go bastardos...
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