Snaps if you get the reference in the title.
The whole point of my move was to get the fuck away from England. To put it bluntly, I hate it here. Absolutely mother-fucking hate it. Aside from the people I love there is very little doubt in my mind that I won't miss a thing.
As a result of this life-changing move, I'm currently balls deep in the process of trying to pack my entire life into a bag the size of an average sized 6 years and it's proving difficult. I'm going back and forth between "I haven't used this in a year so I won't take it" and "oooh but I might need this if I go out".
Ignoring the fact that I rarely leave the house.
Last night, thanks to a really good friend, I realised that, in doing this, I'm completely losing sight of why I decided to move in the first place. I'm not moving to transport my entire life to another continent, I'm moving to start a brand new one. I don't need to take 101 things that exclusively apply to my life in England, because it's not going to exist passed November 11th. It's ending, and I couldn't be happier if you paid me.
Now I've remembered why I'm going, I'm feeling a lot calmer. It's over, it's done. I'm waving to goodbye to all the bad things that have happened and I'm starting a new life thousands of miles away.
And I can't fucking wait.