With about a hundred pictures to sort through and rearrange (because people forgot to format their cards...) I'm feeling pretty good, even if its 5.30am. I must be jetlagged or something.
Or excited about going home, tomorrow.
Here's what happened on Sunday morning, when I had just woken up with tight hamstrings and even tighter calves:
Weng's phone went off as we were passing from unconciousness into conciousness and swiftly back again. His display read Aunty Nancy, which jolted me awake and running through the list of excuses I have stored in my head (whenever Mum calls Weng, it's rarely ever good), but that's okay, after the mild panic it was actually Cheryl.
C: Hey woman! Aren't you supposed to be on a plane in four hours?!
A: Huh what?
C: Plane! You know, fly home!
A: Oh shit, I'm still in Poland. (thinking, Dad's going to kill me if I miss my flight)
C: Huh? But aren't you flying home today?
A: What?! ... Oh, haha, no, only on Wednesday evening
C: OH cheh...you got Mum all excited for nothing.
A: - Back thursday night. Eh, this is costing Weng a lot. I better go, I'll be back in London tomorrow, talk to you then.
Which brings me back to now. So I'm going to get sorting on those photos and try to put some up. I love this bit of the post-holiday when you get to sort through pictures and remember what a great time you had, but I'm not so sure I want to sort through the Auschwitz photos because that place left me so horribly traumatised. I might let Weng do it.
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