Every now and then a Monday rolls around that whacks me firmly around the head and leaves me nonplussed. Dizzy with the realisation that it will be five days before I stand any chance of getting enough sleep, four more days of being shaken into consciousness by the shrill whining of my phone alarm. Four more mornings of sitting on the side of my bed, covers thrown grudgingly back, staring bleary-eyed at the carpet before summoning the strength to stand up and make my way to the shower. Minutes wasted gazing into my wardrobe looking for something to wear before finally giving in and looking on the floor instead. Wondering why I wake up with a headache every single day. Why, by the time I get to work, it turns into an earache. Sometimes it feels like the beginnings of a panic attack, only it can't be, because that would make no sense. It feels like a nervous nausea combined with exhaustion, which I don't understand.
At the moment I am nervous. I feel like things are slipping out of my grasp somehow. I don't really know what's going on. I want someone to stand in front of me with a big whiteboard and some coloured marker pens and do a big map of my life, just so I can make sure I know what goes where. Perhaps with pictures and sound effects.
I'm going to New Zealand next Saturday. This seems a bit unreal at the moment, because I don't really believe I'm going. I think when Tom goes this Saturday it'll be more real, and when I am actually shoving every pair of knickers I own into a giant suitcase stuffed primarily with toiletries and developing a mild (read: severe) case of OCD about the location and expiry date of my passport it will finally dawn on me that I am actually going. There are moments of clarity, moments when Tom and I are talking about the walking, skiing, sea kayaking, or staying on a remote farm worlds away from the Bank branch of the Northern Line and the nearest Starbucks, when the excitement hits me and I want to jump up and down and dance crazily with glee. It feels like running away, and I can't wait.
I feel a bit that I am on the verge of feeling deep panic, and I'm not really sure what it's all about, which is only adding to it. I must write a big list so I can work out what I'm worrying about, which sounds crazy, but I hate the feeling of walking around carrying an un-named worry, because the longer it goes unidentified the worse it becomes. Panic breeds panic.
On a slightly brighter note, my Impish Little Sister (Sophie) has a myspace, which is very exciting and good and which you must listen to at once. Go!
I am going to go and find some coloured pens and work out what is going on via the medium of colouring stuff in.