Good morning jetlag! Well, It is 5:39am and I have woken up bright as a bunny, back home in Brisbanetown. Jetlag is well and truly upon me but luckily its most adverse effects are going to bed at a very sensible hour and waking up at a time that others of the unemployed would mock with great amusement.
The trip home has been, well, epic to say the least. There were snowstorms, flight delays, 5 extra days in Paris, 11 hour stop overs, Christmas Day at Heathrow, exit rows, histerical babies (also in exit rows) and stolen business class chocolate.
We arrived home on Monday 27th of Dec 1010, relieved and exhausted, exiting the plane with gusto, pushing our way through customs, determined to be the first to get our bags and get home. At the baggage carousel we waited, and waited....and then waited some more. The checked bags chugged on by, and with every new piece that was spat violently out of the baggage hole, I lost a little confidence that mine would be next. The other passengers from QF52 happily pick up their luggage, smiling, laughing, kissing their partners, high-fiving other successful baggage claimers and finally passed by me, bags in tow, whispering 'loser' and wearing their superiority proudly as they pushed their way out of the international holding area. My elated glad-to-be-home mood first turned into anger, then sadness, then apathy, then resentment, then anger again and finally self-pity. The bags were not coming.
After filing a report with baggage services I walked away not certain that I would recieve my bags and guitar at all.
2 days later, my guitar has arrived, my big bag however (with EVERYTHING I OWN in it) is still MIA.
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