I hate making decisions.

I hate making decisions to the point of almost wishing I didn’t have a choice at all. Many’s the time I’ve bemoaned that those suffragettes had to protest and fight so that I would have to bother my pretty little head with issues like “voting” or “thinking for myself” instead of having a domineering husband to do it for me. I’m especially loathe to make a choice for myself when it’s something I’m not confident about. I will spend literally weeks researching ridiculously trivial decisions such as Pandora v Links of London or which ebook reader to get and then work myself into a state of agony where it starts to feel like Sophie’s choice, as if there are nazis lined up to shoot me and/or my mythical offspring if I can’t produce a 2000 word essay on the benefits of Kindle over Sony eReader. As if any of that remotley matters.

So you can imagine how traumatic getting a plane ticket was. The different airlines, some of which apparently didn’t even have little TVs in the seats – a stressful prospect. The question of when to buy, should I wait until after I’ve been placed? After I’ve got the visa? How will the prices change? Then I realised it would actually be preferable to depart from any airport but the one closest to me and a whole country of possibilities opened up (except going to London, forget London). Ultimately what I did was take the flight every other Northern English person was taking, especially once it turned out that the connecting flight (Munich to Busan) was one that pretty much the whole UK was taking. Even then I had to double and triple check the details to make sure that I was absolutely definitely getting the right flight. Then, once I was sure of that, the seating plan came up. The damn seating plan. As I once explained to Matt while wearing one of his t-shirts and watching the DVD he loant me, I strongly dislike sharing. Definitely do not play well with outhers, my things is my things and you stay away. Whenever I fly, I end up sandwiched between the morbidly obese man who takes up his seat plus half of mine and the officious older lady who is all elbows and unpacks the entirety of her carry on bag, cramming her coat and book collection and miscellanious crap into my space. Then the asshole in front reclines before we even take off and, hello, this is what hell looks like. Other people!

Thus the seating plan took a long time to decide upon because there’s also the question of proximity to toilets and emergency exits. Not too close to the toilets but not so far away you can’t see if there’s a queue, you know? Not to mention when I realised that there were so many of my fellow EPIK-ers onboard that, God forbid, I might be seated next to one. And if you haven’t guessed, I am annoying. I am really, really irritating. I whine a lot, I find it hard to last the day without getting a food stain of some description on my clothes, and apparently I also snore. So this is not the image I would like to project to a prospective friend and co-worker! It is a quagmire of social graces, my friends.

The system timed out four times while I was buying this ticket. It took about an hour and a half.

However, I do now have my one-way ticket across the world booked! And I could not be more excited. Let’s just hope I dont sleep drool on the poor guy next to me on the plane!