as I await the plane I realise with sudden clarity that I hate it when my fate is inexorably determined for me . . . when I'm forced into a particular course of action, no matter how much I enjoy the prospect of where I'm going, I hate the "having to do it" of it all. As such I have wild day-dreams about not catching my flight and instead using the small amount of cash I have to fly home to Wellington and surprise the hell out of Chris . . . this would probably piss a lot of people off . . . and causes a conflict internally given my fear of flying - what if the flight to NZ then crashed because I upset the heeby-jeeby gods by deciding to board it . . . but then, what if my flight to London is already doomed and flying to NZ is my only escape . . .
in short, I don't really like flying.
LATER DISPATCH FROM THE FIELD:
Having admitted my fear of flying, I think it important to note that my flight tracked it's path through Hong Kong (stopover) which was having a typhoon (typhoon Nora) (if a country "has a typhoon." How would I best phrase that? experiencing a typhoon? enjoying a typhoon? I don't know). So I was truly tested on this one, and proved righteous.
. . . did I say hebrew-jeebrews? I'll have to rewind the tape.
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