The Final Countdown

Now it's only eighteen hours before I embark abroad to the Venice of the North. Er. Shitting myself. Getting teary-eyed at last goodbyes and talking about it with friends – I'm welling up just now thinking about it. I'm just watching Harry potter enough to numb my mind, as my sleep has been crap this week – slept about four hours last night, back to the usual state of insomnia..

I've worked out that I'm going to be on the go for pretty much sixteen hours straight on saturday – train from South Wales to Gatwick starts at 6am (tchh.), flight at 1250, next flight at 740 and then I finally get into St Petersburg, the airport at least, at 945pm. Deeeeaaath. Then again,there's all the time changes and everything, but even despite this, gonna be utterly shattered by the time I get to my home in St Petersburg. Which is on a road that I still think may be in the middle of nowhere. I don't even know where it is on the metro map either. Shit. Although, mainly, I'm scared by this seemingly cold personality – you get the odd people like that in Britain – I thankfully can push myself to not really notice it, the amount I small talk – but when you're surrounded by it? I've the feeling that I might secretly love it, but at the moment I am slightly freaking out, that I don't blend in, that I stick out and that it might make me a target if I look too foreign. No iPod outside for me for about a month.

Then the flight itself. I have two hours between my flights (I don't even know the exact time limitations – I simply know that I get off my first flight at 1745 and get my next at 1940). That I miss the check-in, or giving in my hold luggage, or missing the gate – God forbid – and getting stuck in Helsinki airport. AHHHH FUCK MY LIFE. Something is bound to go wrong. Or leaving your passport behind. That'd just about kill me, doing all that travelling to London and all that money...to find you'd left the passport at home, or a tiny document, or whatever.

The Russian itself....well, how could I have been studying Russian for four years to find that I can pretty much not say a fucking word?

Agonisingly tired and stressed by this. I just want to go now, at some points, and then it's ahhh I want to stay in the green green grass of home...