Or: HobbitInc goes to Sicily.
(I've started referring to my translation company as HobbitInc, despite a) This not being the name of my translation company and b) Me not actually having a translation company, as I'm a 'sole trader'. And sometimes I get confused and just use 'HobbitInc' as a variation of my name, but I think this kind of behaviour is more or less in keeping with my general nature and is what people who know me expect. Nobody's formally raised any concerns. Like a couple of months ago when I pretended to be an owl because my life seemed to stressful and busy for a human, and everyone seemed fairly cool with it).
I've spent quite a bit of my life going 'O I would like to go there or there some day', but it's dawning on me slowly that if I don't actually book tickets and do things, nothing will actually happen. So to celebrate six months of being self-employed, I'm trolling off TO SICILY, specifically Catania, in October. I started wanting to go when I was a teenager obsessed with The Godfather (obviously), and finally I am to succeed:
Don Vito Hobbinto
When I have been on holiday before, there have always been friendly Swedes to look after me and prevent me from doing anything too stupid (bar cutting off the odd thumb, getting trapped in the odd bus, drinking the odd bottle of too-strong cider). They will not be there this time, so I'm a bit concerned about, y'know, looking after myself like a grown adult. I've tried to learn some Italian on Duolingo (I know Sicilian is different from Italian, but even Duolingo has limitations in what it offers) but I don't think my brain's designed for Italian. I speak German and Dutch, meaning I can – and do – sound as grumpy as I like when I speak them. With Italian, you need to speak like you care about stuff. And maybe use HAND GESTURES. Well, I have a couple of months to sort out my personality.
I think it is a good idea. Another place I've always wanted to go is Mongolia, so who knows? Maybe I'll embrace a travelling spirit of adventure, pack the laptop and merrily translate from various places around the world. Before I head off, I have to give myself an appraisal (this isn't me being mad, I'm genuinely going to make Excel tables and evaluate how I've been doing as a 'freelancer' for six months, and draw up plans for the next six months, because I'm possibly insane) and maybe 'do my taxes', which for all I know involves attaching banknotes to a passing owl and hoping that it gets to the right people, whoever they are. A holiday is a nice way of rounding off the busiest year of my life (which has spanned centuries for I am one of the oldest people).
I realised that last week, it was the three-year anniversary of me being diagnosed as A Mental. I tried to think of something profound to say about it and sum it all up but couldn't think of much. The anniversary of diagnosis seems more significant that the anniversary of coming off Sanity Snacks (a year ago next month, o how time has flown), and I marked it by solemnly eating a bowl of Angel Delight in memorial (around the time I was diagnosed, I'd had to leave the office when I was working down in Buckinghamshire one day because I was too mad to stay, got back to my flat, decided I was too mad and worried to cook properly, so then exclusively ate Angel Delight for about a week, which maybe wasn't very funny at the time but seems more humourous now). But anyway. I'm glad I went to the GP in that tiny posh village three years ago. I wish I'd done it nine years ago, but still, it was one of my wiser moments. I don't see myself as 'cured' despite being 'subclinical', but I am a happier hobbit.