Looking backwards, it’s 696 years today since the victory at Bannockburn. Rather than Midsummer’s, I use my own term, Bannie Day. Looking forwards, it’s seven weeks until the day my long-delayed trip to Scotland should begin.
This calls for a temporary change in priorities. My language studies and dealing with the Backlog list, usually at the top, will only come after preparations for the trip. Not that there’s too much to do. Not that there won’t be something I’ll forget to do or take with me notwithstanding. Nevertheless, with good planning and, for once, little postponing, I hope to omit as few things as possible.
I should also do a bit of training. Smoking less, so I won’t miss it when I can’t. Pre-adjusting my sleeping habits to the fact I won’t have a single room. (Most of the last seventeen years I’ve been living on my own.) And eating more. I’ve been lapsing into neglecting proper diet again, and as I’ll surely be neglecting it there, I’d better be well fed in advance.
That’s not all. I should return on 23 August, with only five days left until the next Trian commences on the twenty-eighth. Consequently, most of the things I’m used to having done prior to 28 August should be managed earlier this year, before I leave for the tour. (The more so as supposedly I’ll also need some time to catch up on all I shall have missed while away.) These too will come on top of the all-year-round tasks.
It seems that while last year I had a fairly hectic autumn, this year I’m in for a fairly hectic summer. This isn’t meant as a grumble. Provided it doesn’t come too often or last too long, having a hectic time can be quite some fun. (And the follow-up feel the more serene.) Most importantly, though, I’ll see my country again.
Incidentally, my plans for long-term future are slowly changing. A year ago I took it for granted I’d only be visiting Scotland occassionally. I’ve begun pondering the idea of finding work there and hopefully staying for good. The first prompt was Čermák’s art therapy session two years ago; the most recent Perham’s “You’re only as big as the dreams you dare to live”. Generally, however, the older I am, the more I hate living here. I’ll say no more now lest I bring bad luck to the idea.