Once a month, normally on a Friday night, I'd pack my case for the night away.
Now there is a dependent roaming around the house, I start to pack earlier so to not set him off - not that he's going anywhere. I'll only be gone for 24 hours, and my neighbour will feed and check in on him.
I've checked to see my Opal card which has been resting in my wallet to see if it's still valid and is in credit.
The offsite car park is booked.
I've looked at the weather to see what's what.
Packing feels a bit foreign now. The staples are sitting in the spare room. The travel laptop. The charging cables. A change of underwear, some gym gear. My runners will go in the bag on Friday morning as I'll be using them tomorrow. I'm thinking about what else needs to go in. I've got an outside Rock concert on Saturday evening. Comfortable shoes are a must. And maybe dinner beforehand - depending on what the others are doing. We have disparate plans - it's just the way it is.
I've been looking up little things to do. I've got an afternoon. Maybe a visit to the Museum of Contemporary Art. A stroll up Angel Place, still one of my favourite places in Sydney. On Sunday morning, if they let me have a late check out, I might take a walk over the big bridge.
It's going to give a different perspective on the world.
I haven't been to Sydney in nearly three years.
The last time I went it was to see the same band I'm seeing on Saturday. The gig was cancelled due to COVID. It was March 2020. I remember feeling strange getting on the plane back then.
What feels foreign now is travelling to a city, which for years, felt like a second home.
There's a couple of other emotions floating around, but I'll keep them to myself.
At least I'll be with friends to give me a soft landing.
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