September 11th, 1989

September 11th, 1989

Princess Hotel, Hamilton, Bermuda

I think I might have imbibed a little too much tonight. Ok the fact that writing (more like scribbling) those words knocked me into a fit of giggles confirms that yes, I have absolutely, positively had too much to drink. Plus, my head is spinning and I want nothing more than to get into bed but I need to write this. If I wait until tomorrow to write, it won’t be the same because nothing is ever the same when you’re sober, compared to when you’re tipsy. (In Annabel’s voice) Tipsy you say, Miss McGarr? Tipsy? Haha, I’m cracking myself up here. Those dark ‘n’ stormy cocktails with the Gosling’s black rum that Kimberly and I overdosed on, clearly have a lot to answer for.

In my present state my thought is that I love my job but really, will I ever be able to have a romantic relationship that lasts more than, what? Nights? Weeks? Shit, it all feels really complicated and out of reach right now.

I mean look at David, wow! Total wow. Amazing guy. He’s gorgeous, witty, intelligent, a little shy, yet confident, driven, adventurous (if I wasn’t so tired I’d go on and on about him) oh and did I mention he lives in LA, which is almost six thousand miles from where I live?

How on earth could we ever make it work? Well, let’s see, I could commute from LA! Long haul cabin crew commute to London from all over the world. Apparently there are about a dozen of us that live in Sydney, Australia. That’s just mental, makes LA seem like it’d be easy.

I’ve never even been to LA…I might hate it..I don’t think so..I think I’ll absolutely love it…sunshine and surfers…basically David…what’s not to love about that? Ah, love, love, love, complicated, seemingly unattainable, love.

I will pay for this tomorrow.



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