I think I’ll be out of here by the end of the month. They’re going to have a hard time on the 29th arguing I should continue to be detained and if I can keep myself together I can do a good job of putting my case for release. So I don’t think I’m going to cancel the tribunal unless they say I can go home on leave. I won’t stay informally, I can’t stay informally.
I’m almost certainly not quite ready. I’m almost certainly going to have to deal with panic and paranoia when I get home. I’m almost certainly going to find it isn’t quite as easy as it feels it will be now. I’m almost certainly being foolish, but then when was I ever *not* foolish? Because at the same time as I’m not quite ready I am so ready it’s untrue. Going home is all I can think about.
And the first thing I’m going to do when I get home? I’m going to get gloriously drunk. Yes, I know how bad that sounds. But I really really want a drink right now. I want to feel the whisky hit my throat, I want to feel that warmth spread through my body. I want to settle back into my house, to settle back into my brain, to take some time to gather myself together after the last few months. It’s been a rough old winter. I have a lot to think about.