When I Got to the Terminal at 8.05pm...

It deluged with rain all day, we watched it fall as we watched a “Friends” marathon on Arena.

Mark told me I was fat, several times. I hate it when he does that. It’s childhood trauma, I know that. I must remind myself o it when he speaks those words. His mother was a “thin nazi.”

SMS 12.30. I had the loveliest time! Thank you all so much – Julien

SMS. 19.13. (Lauri) Hey, I can’t make it for dinner, I’ve got to pick my mum up from the airport at 8pm – christian

SMS. 19.15. Send me your parent’s phone number so I can call you – christian

Mum’s plane was coming in at 8.05pm.

I was about to cruise into the airport with a couple of minutes to spare to get from the car park to the gate, when Wendy called to say there had been a terrible storm in Brisbane and that mum’s plane was replaced and they were an hour getting out of Brisbane. When I got to the terminal at 8.05pm, of course right on fucken time, the arrivals board said 9.30pm. Don’t you fucken love it. Twiddle my fingers. Sit. Watch the people walk by. Drink coffee. Drink coffee. Drink coffee.

It clicked over to 22.00, before she landed.

We had tea at her place and de-briefed.

I got home at midnight. It was freezing. I put the heating on.