I'll be off on a real holiday in a couple of days! Yay! Real, exotic, tropical holiday! (Okay, it's just Gold Coast, nothing Carribean-ish or hula-danceable, but anywhere is more tropical than Melbourne in winter) No more spending the winter break lounging pathetically at home with nothing to do but staring really hard at the ceiling and trying to imagine all the vibrating atoms that make the ceiling and wondering if the physicists were right, and if they got it wrong, then, there are no atoms or protons or electrons or whatever, the world could become a really scary place to live in when you can't trust even the smartest of your species, especially those wise and profound Romans in their togas, although I now can't remember who came up with the theory of atom in the first place, but my gut is telling me it wasn't the Romans. Or the togas.
One of the things I love about travelling (aside from the actual act of travelling itself, which could become pretty dull and suicide-inspiring, especially when one will have to spend about twenty hours on train to get to one's destination) is shopping for travelling-related things. You know, travel-sized toothpaste (which I just bought), travel-sized shampoo and conditioner, travel-sized body wash, travel-sized travel backpack etc. It's like miniaturizing your life or making your life portable, or something. If these cute, portable travel-sized things could last forever without ever having to refill them cute travel-sized bottles, I'd carry them wherever I go, perhaps even to uni, should I suddenly feel the need to shampoo between Multimedia Studio 3 and Advertising Management.
Have also bought some books to last me the seemingly arduous train journey. Uplifting, fresh material from writers I haven't read before, to suit the whole uplifting and fresh concept of travelling to a new, warmer place. I'll tell you later if Neil Gaiman's American Gods and Nick Hornby's How To Be Good will have managed to successfully distract me from strangling the passenger in front of me for reclining his seat too much (or at all). No depressing Prozac Nation stuff. It's Gold Coast!
And must remember to bring my cassettes also. Student allowance and bad financial management stopped me from buying a Discman, so must remember to dub Ani Difranco's CDs to tape later. Hmm hmm. I wonder what mood should I set myself to before arriving in Sunshine State. Broody Ani? Broody Jakob Dylan? Broody Fiona Apple? Broody (and angry) Pearl Jam? Uh oh. Maybe I should buy a Britney (or Wild Dance 2001 or something like that) CD tomorrow.
So, am going to milk my parent's money for all it's worth, snapping photos to the max and live up to the stereotype. So darling readers, in the meantime, be patient with me, read all my previous entries, go watch a movie, read a book, hug a sibling, and wait for me to come back and regale you with breathtaking stories and photos of how the shiny happy people of the Sunshine State live their tropical lives.
Although it would probably just be a lot of photos of myself doing something so predictably tourist-like, posing with the World's Largest Pineapple or Lobster or something. And based on experience of previous travels, the most interesting thing I could be telling you could be how my digital camera ran out of batteries just before I manage to take a photo of a deep, profound and culturally-meaningful event, and now since I don't have the photo, I can't remember what was that deep, profound and culturally-meaningful event in the first place.
previous entry: wrist, unmummified (july 3, 2002)