OK. 18 hours to go. The madness of the Melbourne Comedy Festival and it's 18 hour days is almost behind me and it's not a moment too soon! Lucky for me that I have an organised mother who rang me earlier in the week offering to drive me to the airport, for my flight at 10pm Friday. Checking the ticket again for finer details, discovered it was a 10am flight. Yep. My brain (still stuck in the alcohol-infused fug of Comedy Festival) had miscalculated and I lost a vital 12 hours. So now am madly packing, trying to finish off documentation/budgety stuff/assessments for our volunteer TAFE minions, exchanging buckets of gold coin donations from the Photobooth Project into US dollars etc etc. My reputation as the mistress of uber-organisation is slipping. I blame the Comedy Festival. No joke, Comedy has ceased to be funny.
Lucky I have been doing some packing earier in the week, culling items I know I won't need. It's highly unlikely I'll get caught in a tornado or a blizzard, I'm extremely unlikely to be cast as an extra in Law and Order whilst wandering around the wrong parts of New York and it's 100% unlikely that I will trip over Ryan Adams, who offers to fly me to Louisiana on his private plane. Probably won't need all my tornado-defence/TV extra/random star sighting outfits. I'm getting better at this packing thing, but once a Production Manager, always a Production Manager.....I have a stellar tiny first aid kit and little theatre kit full of batteries, safety pins, multitool etc. Ready for any non-tornado emergency.
It's the moment before, that night before you get on the plane, the hours before you realise it's actually happening. I haven't had the headspace to get exited so you'll likely all be subjected to crazy stream-of-conciousness ramblings as I disembark in New York and immediately fall prey to some nasty post-festival flu. Cross fingers for me everyone!