I haven't wanted to give you a blow by blow account of packing for the UK, though it's filtered through my posts of late. There's been a ridiculous amount of lists constructed and crumpled and re written with new things to do - bills to cancel, DIY, the garden, packing, packing and more packing, cleaning, and crying.

I guess, therefore, I'm here in the 'Rant, Complain, Talk' community because I need to talk out this angst pre travel. There's definitely not a 'Pre Travel Angst' community!

Yep. I've been having meltdown after meltdown after meltdown. There's just been so much to do that I haven't been coping, and that's compounded by the two of us being snappy at each other because we both have all of these internal lists as well as external ones. Worst is he gets forgetful when he's stressed, and I have no patience for telling him the same thing again. You know, marriage stuff. And in the background has been Dad's illness as well.

**Quick update on Dad - he's a bit better after the cancer drug side effects have worn off, but as it's a lung cancer the muscle wastage is also symptomatic. He's very, very thin, but at last he's walking around the garden and getting out of bed for most of the day, walking around the garden and even coming to visit. He's got a team of people trying to get him healthy enough to have more treatment. His spirits are okay, though he has moments, like the other day, when he got upset. 'I should be kite boarding' he said. 'And I would have, if this fkn thing hadn't got me'. It's not fair. But they reassure me they'll be fine for eight months and I do feel he's in a better place for me to leave for a bit.

So.

This morning was our last surf on my precious, beautiful coast. We went down before dawnn and watched the sun come up from the water, watching the clouds shift into their pinks and purples. The swell was reasonable and we got some nice, clean waves, having fun with a few other crew out there calling each other into waves. I was last in as I was having a bit of a sob, my salty tears blending with the salt water. I've never felt such a tug about leaving before. This coast is so precious to me. It's part of my heart. But then I always have a physical, visceral reaction to landscapes. I'm sure I'll reconnect with England soon enough, and cry when I leave there too.

As I write I'm having tea and vegemite toast and eyeing the boxes that need to go in the bus in the garden (our storage), the vinyl records, surfboard and bow to go to my parent's house (they can't handle those temperature extremes), the washing to hang out, the floor to mop. The van will go to my parents too, and the Defender into storage. I'm dealing with messaging the tenants too - they're very lovely, but they are young. It's their first time in a rental - eek. They will be fine, but some questions the boy had were a bit disconcerting, like, 'If we got ducks where could we keep them', to which I nearly had a heart attack and said 'please no more animals on the property!. I think he's just socially awkward.

There's been so much to do, that had I really thought about it, I would never have done it. Screw adventure, I'm just choosing home life. But that's exactly the reason for travelling again - one should never be too comfortable, lest one not be challenged to grow.

But damn, as much as I'm looking forward to adventure, I'm looking forward to coming home again.

Feel the fear and do it anyway, though, right?