I already almost have the tan of a 60-year-old borderline alcoholic pensioner who lives on one of those horribly tacky Spanish islands and sings karaoke during night-time just to pass the rest of the life that's left.
My hair has grown a bit and bright red lipstick matches my tan. Carefree.
Otherwise, my bags wait to be packed and the flight departs in four nights.
I'm going to miss Helsinki a bit and I can't imagine what it will be like to leave it permanently behind in September. When a long-lost australian messaged me out of the blue a few days ago, I answered his message with a recollection of everything that's happened since he left. It made up quite a list, of which I am both proud and extremely excited.
I have no idea what's going to happen in Copenhagen.
Maybe nothing, maybe everything.
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