Arriving home is a strange feeling, I think. Wellington is 6 hours behind yet a day ahead of LA, and (give or take) 20 degrees colder. I have never once woken up full of beans at 6am – but I did today.

I’m a week behind on Uni, and three months behind on some level of acceptable fitness. I have a detailed comprehensive shopping list of stupid things like unsweetened almond milk and coconut cream. I went for a coffee and accidentally got my old job back (who’s complaining, the perks were rad).

I think I need a week to unwind, most probably two. That’s probably a weird thing to note about life – it doesn’t stop. I should elaborate on that statement but maybe that’s all I need to say.

Bittersweet is the best way to describe how I’m currently feeling – like a good coffee should be (I am so fucking excited for decent coffee again). I’m so glad to be home. It’s nice to have my own bed, my own room, being able to shower whenever I like and actually cook a proper meal. University will be exciting, work will be exciting. Seeing all of my friends and family again will be exciting.

But I’d be crazy not to miss travelling; to miss the places, the sights, the culture, the people. Lugging 65kg of bags (is this why they call it luggage???? mental note to check) into the Piccadilly line at rush hour. Missing connecting flights resulting in being stranded in both Frankfurt and Chicago airports. On the same day. Just doing whatever you feel like at any point in the day, because you’re on the other side of the world and when else would be a better time to do that.

I’m totally a different person to the one who was sitting at my desk on Cuba St three months ago. And the best part is I’m ok with that. Everything’s going to be groovy.

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