It’s now very low single digit “sleeps” till our holiday.
I’m feeling a little crazy.
I’ve got my country’s 500th anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder, and Guilder to frame for it; I’m swamped.
My nerves are frayed.
I’m a donkey on the edge.
I’m a dog in a coke carton……
He he he.
And just like her, I’m a little scared, a little confused, and while I run around trying to help myself, the rest of the family stands back, and laughs at me.
I should really have been wearing my heart monitor around this week. My heart rate has been “in the zone”, all day, every day. Sleep is a wonderful respite, when I can finally shut my mind down to find it.
Then on awakening, I can feel ‘list organiser me’, sitting just outside my conciseness, staring at me. Real close. And as soon as I open my eyes, she’s like, “great, your awake, thought you’d sleep all day. Now we need to go over those notes you made before you went to sleep.” And she slaps me on the backside as I stumble out the bedroom door.
I like to keep this anxiety bottled up nicely inside, and try not to let it affect the rest of the family. The shaking and darting eyes are a bit harder to hide, but I do ok.
The motto I am trying to live by, I actually found on my tattooist wall. No it isn’t to do with gang/pirate recruitment, drugs and or robbery (tattooed people are people too you know!). It was a flow chart that went something like this;
Do you have a problem?:
Yes– Can you do something about it? – No – Then don’t worry.
Yes- Can you do something about it? – Yes – Then don’t worry.
No– Then don’t worry.
Cool hey? I found it quite profound.
Anyway, I’m almost organised. Goblin money is counted, the crawchie is doing his best to limit the number of gold fish left to feed (therefore he is being returned home, to the wild, before he completely decimates the tank population. I was told they are vegetarians darn it), work is almost over, school assessment is all covered, and my list dwindles each day.
My biggest fear is probably that this holiday will go as fast as the week leading up to it. I’ve decided to let the excitement barge in, and kick that worry to the curb.
The knot in my chest is still there, and I long for rest, but ‘list me’ keeps reminding me there are 13 perfectly good hours to sleep on the plane.
Now I’m off to clean the house, wouldn’t want any robbers thinking we’re filthy people.
P.S The house is heavily fortified and booby trapped. Possible with poison. And spike pits.