I have no house of my own again - well, not for a month. The furniture has been moved back down to Adelaide, the keys have been relinquished. And I am sitting at the library, waiting until it's time to catch my coach. I was a fool and booked the 5.30, instead of the 1.30, just to be on the safe side. The outbound inspection took fifteen minutes. Safe side unneeded.
No television, no internet, no computer, an iPod that's low on battery power and only one book for company; what's a girl to do for three days and two nights? I tried writing, but I've discovered there's a good reason I prefer to type as opposed to scrawl longhand - my brain is too quick for my hand - yet not too fast for my fingers - paragraphs all over the place and every letter illegible. Still, I managed something resembling fiction.
I'm reading Going Postal in the meantime. Probably not the best one to start with, but I'm enjoying it. It was the only Pratchett book the library had. No, I don't understand either. I seem to recall saying I wanted to read Pratchett's work two years ago now... well... I've got around to it eventually? Not that I'll finish before I have to go. I guess I'll have to go search it down when I get back.
You never realise just how relative time is until you have 24 hours and nothing, literally nothing, to do. The last day has been hell.
ETA: Since this appears to have caused confusion - the three days and two nights have now passed and I am almost back in Adelaide, really. Uh, yes.