The massive long goodbye

NYE is a funny beast, isn't it? Usually, like most events that have some sort of quasi-superstitious significance, it is a source of angst for me. Tonight, however, I'll take it or leave it. The past two weeks or so have been one long party, after all, and the new year won't start for me until I get on board the plane bound for Vientiane.

I like to think of my last week in Melbourne as a series of snapshots, although that's mainly because I was drunk for most of it. But very cinematic, after all. I remember a posh lunch, a boozy countryside dinner, several nice speeches about my "infectious" laugh (aka my inappropriately loud witchy cackle), and at least two people divulging personal information they never would have before. There were tears- Connie cried ("There's something in my eye, actually"), and I bawled in front of Schram when he had to get a train and I didn't want to watch his back disappearing for the last time. I skulked in the back yard of melbs.org and talked about music. I resolved things with an old enemy, and made a marriage pact with a childhood friend over a beer in Hell's Kitchen- a fall-back protection against solitude should we hit 35 alone.

On my last morning in Melbourne, a week ago now, I woke up and felt like dying. I thought the last Saturday's hangover was bad, but omigod, this here was the real deal. And I had to pack up all my crap and somehow get it back to Canberra. My To-Do list seemed massive, insurmountable. I fell asleep in the laundrette, dragged myself to the supermarket, bought last minute gifts, shovelled things in bags, wrapped the Xmas presents, cursing myself for my foolishness all the way. Never mix drinks, Sarrie. We've been through this.

The night before was spent with Jess and Ben and Libby and Mark, the four marrieds with the most depraved senses of humour ever. When I swayed on home, bumping into Akiko-chan on the way, I thought about how happy I was to have spent my last week with the types of people who were more than willing to help me numb the sadness with alcohol and laughter and dirty jokes. I thought about how grateful I was to be so fancy-free and unattached and young.

Then I threw up.

Now, a week later back in Canberra, and it all seems like a dream, although the drinking has hardly abated. Not in the Pryor household: the olds have gone to Sydney, and already my sisters and I have got stuck into the gin and all the champagne leftover from Christmas.

It was a good Christmas- traditional and familiar. We spent the following days at the beach, and I got sunburn. We came back to Canberra with salty hair and sand in our pockets, and me with a massive bruise on my leg- Philippa and I capsized Caroline in her kayak. At least it wasn't my head.

It's 38 degrees today, and I'm kicking back with a G&T, trying to decide how to spend the evening. And for the first time, it doesn't really matter.