Follow me as I blog my way through 12 months of travel, 20 countries, 2 volunteer programs, 44,000 miles, over 20 flights, countless chicken bus rides and 365 wonderful work-free days.

I’m now on the official countdown. Ok so I was technically on the official countdown about 6 months ago but now that I’m into singular digits, it’s super official.

I’m leaving in 9 weeks (oh my god) and it’s really starting to hit me. In just 9 weeks I’ll be leaving my family, my friends, my oh so comfy bed, my favourite foods, my hot shower and my clean and varied selection of clothes, and I won’t see them again for a year. A WHOLE YEAR…

So I’m working myself up for that moment… and freaking out in the process.

I find myself going to bed at night and wrapping myself in the clean sheets, sinking into the comfy mattress and drifting peacefully to sleep. I’m embracing every moment of it knowing that for the next year I’ll be sleeping on god knows what, swatting my mosquito net out of my face every time I roll over and chucking a hissy fit in the middle of the night because something is crawling up my leg. I don’t want to go.

I find myself standing under the shower for a lot longer than I should. Loving that hot water comes out and that I have no chance of being electrocuted by live wires hanging above me. And loving that I’m behind a locked door and I don’t have to wear shoes in case I get a fungal disease. I don’t want to go.

I find myself consuming sushi by the bucket load, craving Thai food and fish and chips. Cooking Sunday roasts on weekdays and eating chocolate like it’s going out of fashion. I miss food from home when I’m away. Does Africa have sushi? I don’t want to go.

I find myself longingly staring into my wardrobe, agonising over what to take with me. I should take 2 pairs of jeans because they always stretch if you wear them for too long and they don’t fit properly and then you have that saggy arse thing going on and you look a bit like you have a penis because the front goes all pouchy.. but I can’t take 2 pairs because my mother has packed my bag so full of useless items that I’ll never use and I don’t even have room for underwear. I don’t want to go.

I find myself spending more and more time with family. The hugs are longer, the laughs are louder and more frequent. I feel like I want to hold on to them and never let go. And I’ve begun questioning myself why on earth I would choose to leave them for a whole year. I don’t want to go.

So here I am.. 9 weeks to go and I’m clearly in the freaking out stage of my countdown. I’m sure next week will be different. I’ll move on to the totally unprepared stage or something, but for now, I’m not ready, time is going too fast. Help!!

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