Sunday, 21 November 2010
Twas the night before...
I stalled for pretty much as long as possible, to the point where pretty much everything ironable in the house is now on hangers. Something that happens at best twice a year. But now I have a very heavy suitcase sitting next to me, and a bag with 7 pairs of shoes. Because I decided I needed spiritual reinforcement and also because my very good friend - the aforementioned fellow shoe fetishist - has broken her ankle and asked me to wear heels in her honour.
So now I have a proper rainbow of podiatric perfection and am starting to get that anxious, heavy chested, twisted stomach anxiety that precipitates a big exam, or going on a big holiday and wondering if both everything's packed and if all will be OK when I get there. I had a little cry last night when I went to bed, because I am a bit of a baby. But also because I had this swamping wave of anxiety about how I would handle a bad day. When I have a bad day here - and let's be honest, in my line of work it happens relatively often - I go to bed at night, and curl under my feather quilt and snuggle into Bingley who lets me talk it all out until I'm an exhausted mess, and then I cuddle the Possum when he wakes up and it's all ok.
But there I won't be able to do that. I will be all alone. And I'm so scared. I know that it's ridiculous. I'm an independent, adventurous, intelligent 29 year old woman. But there's a part of me that's wanting to drive every night to my Mum and Dad's house a little while away from where I will be working just so someone can look after me.
So to cure my fit of imaginative morbidity I'm watching Zoolander, and it's pretty much an exact antidote. David Duchovny is making me giggle in spite of my wild imaginings of dealing with terribly sick children while wiping plague from my brow. "World's greatest hand model" rofl.
It will probably be just hard and long and relatively monotonous, and I'll be going home at night to wonder what to do with all my time and my full nights of sleep. But I can't help the little macabre imaginings. I think it's just a way of preparing for the worst case scenario. And a way of distracting myself from the fact that I won't have a giggly, snuggly little boy giving me rapturous cuddles for 2 whole weeks.