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Packing.... and packing death

Packing Death is possibly a rather unique Australian term meaning "to be very afraid". And I am very afraid. In total, on the round trip, I am catching five planes. Two there, three back. And very possibly circumnavigating the globe.

I'm afraid my luggage and cosplay will get lost.

I'm afraid the TSA will take objection to something in either of my luggages and incarcerate me so that I completely miss out on everything.

I'm afraid no-one will want to take me into their hearts cars and I will be a road hazard for the duration of the con.

I'm afraid the members of SPG might hate me for unknown reasons.

I'm afraid one of my five planes will crash. [Yeah I know. Statistically speaking, I'm more likely to crash my car on the way home... but STILL]

I'm afraid all the blue dye is going to leak out of my hair before the Big Day.

And I'm really afraid my last words to my family will be something atrocious to remember.

And all of that is phenomenally unlikely to happen. Most likely scenario, the worst thing to happen to me is that I get lost between point A and point B in the airport and have to lapse into my pseudo-American accent to be understood by their helpful staff.

Eh. These things plague me because anxiety.

This week, I'm doing 1000 words a day so I can have free time on Thursday for all the faffing about necessary, which includes catching the first of five planes. And time travel.

I take off at eleven-ish on Thursday morning in Brisbane... and land at 6AM on Thursday morning in LAX. Time zones are such fun.