I’m starting to have nightmares again. This much was expected, and happened before I left. Back then, I worried about losing touch with everyone back home. I should have realized it much sooner, but it wasn’t until long after “whoa, New Zealand!” evolved from a whimsical fantasy plan to a concrete itinerary-based trip that I accepted how massive a change this was, and how extraordinary the emotional cost would be. Sadness was built into the equation, all the more if the trip succeeded. And now, the final installment payment is due.
Last night I saw a skyline with tall well-lit buildings, and dark rooms full of colleagues. I saw bags at Kennedy. I felt myself tugging the luggage trolley, getting stuck on the curb. Nothing nightmarish, but I was home and so clearly not here, and it just felt awful. I woke up at 6 a.m. to thunder, lightening, downpour.
The trip is being quickly reduced to meals. There was this pizza, and an exquisite dessert at Strawberry Fare. Tonight is Vietnamese, maybe Korean. Tomorrow is a homemade trade: burgers for lunch, green curry for dinner. Friday, I’ll spend my last day in Wellington trying to celebrate my birthday with lunch at Logan Brown. Saturday, apples on the train. Sunday and Sunday and Sunday. And then… airplane food.
