On the eve of my departure, I am rather detached. It doesn't feel like I'm leaving and yet it's hit me several times over the last few days, sending me into a steady stream of tears.

I'm not ready to leave. I still have a year of summer left in me and I cannot believe it is that time already. It does not help that I cannot mentally put myself in the now because I have to hit the ground running the minute I step off the plane in Manchester. I am not excited for the coming week.

Registration is right now (2am my time, 10am there) so that's just dandy. PASS leader training sessions begin the morning after I arrive, 9.45am on the dot. In between, I will be trying to see my friends, contact the storage place that has all my stuff which I really need right when I get there and have no idea how that's going to work, get Gabs hall committee stuff sorted, somehow attend a bit of the Fresher's Fair to sign up for some societies, check out any posters and potted plants, and whatnot. Mind you, that's all pretty much Wednesday afternoon.

I can check-in in 3 hours, during which time I plan to be asleep, regaining my strength so I can awaken and slap packing across the face. Yes, that's right, I haven't even started packing yet. My flight is around 3.40pm tomorrow (today) afternoon. I don't even know what I'm packing. Clothes? Books? Stress.

I am not ready and I am not excited. This is not good.