It seems, despite the genuinely suspicious quantity of condiments lining my pockets, I have made it back to Australia relatively unscathed* after spending the better portion of August in Japan.
“How is the weather there?” My father had asked.
“Cicadas.” Was my response.
Why on earth did I agree to cross the equator during August? That’s rhetorical, by the way; 35°C days with 95% humidity and a spot of mild typhoon toward the end there. Natural disasters are one thing but heat and I do not agree. Next time let’s shoot for February.
The Helpercats survived my absence (thanks to my parents for keeping an eye on them); though admittedly Claude screamed for 12 straight hours when we got back- only stopping due to the loss of her voice, while Hobes actively attepted to incapacitate me via concussion with the ferocity of his smooches.
Claude forgave my absence upon the realisation that luggage is comfortable for sits.
It is good to be home.
It was good to not be home.
It was, in many ways, frightening, to spend an entire month in direct contact with another human being, even if it was with the one I’ve been living with for the past six years, who already knows too much anyway. Though surprisingly, it was only quite recently that he genuinely managed to shame one of my hobbies.