For some reason I have seemingly hit a wall. The only things I seem capable of doing is working and saying goodbye. Both things are quite constructive really, well actually they are vital considering the circumstances, but my inability to do anything else is not particularly fucking helpful at the moment.
I don’t quite understand it. I have worked my butt off in the last 5-6 months working whenever I can, planning, planning and obsessively planning. Getting the best deals, making itineraries, being meticulous in keeping a track of everything. Getting my tax organised early, managing to sell approximately 30% of my possessions including my car. Renting out my house, saying goodbye to the lemon tree and the magic faraway tree owned by Noddy. It has been endless and if I look back and actually see what I have achieved I should be incredibly proud of myself.
But instead, I am missing the dogs, I am repeatedly saying WTF over and over again and I seem to be unable to address things like how are we going to fit our lives into three backpacks. We were meant to doing a “dummy run” of packing today. We needed to lay out what we are planning to take, pack it, and see if the kids can walk three times round the house with their backpacks on without falling backwards and flailing around like little useless injured ants.
Archie and Rissie are already repeating phrases like “under no circumstances is mummy going to be stuck in the back of nowhere having to carry three backpacks.” It makes me realise how often I may have uttered the phrase. It also makes me proud as a mother that I can obviously communicate with my children without cursing like a fucking pirate. You see I do achieve moments of greatness as a mother sometimes.
Anyway, we did not get around to doing a dummy run today as I had other things on and to be honest, I am not sure yet what we are taking and the whole idea of packing is so exhausting that I managed to put it off for another day. Archie said to me tonight as I was saying goodnight, “Mummy, it might be time for more than just a dummy run”. How wise that young child is. It is also very annoying how he can state the bloody obvious. Of course it is time, I know it is time. It is not like I need to be told over and over again. Children can be infuriating.
I miss my dogs and I am heartily sick of saying goodbye. Every time I go outside or drive up the road I look out for their black and white faces and when they are not there a piece of my black heart hurts a little. Of course we all cried when they left. We are all magnificent criers. Though my children are much more attractive than me when they cry; a lot less snot. I also suspect that Rissie can turn it on and off again like a water tap. I have no idea where that child gets it from.
I hate saying goodbye. I truly, truly hate it and I suspect the number of important farewells over the last few weeks are starting to get me down a little. We shall be back before we know it. The time will fly and people will be saying, “Oh god, is she back already?” I think that it has been a very long busy few months, and I suspect that it is has finally hit me, like a cup of cold sick, as to what we are about to do. To say I am a great, big, messed up, bloody neurotic jumble of nerves would be a complete understatement. Best to be avoided really.
So tomorrow I am going to pack. That is the plan anyway. Of course something might divert my attention like working out if I need to make another list, but as the only thing on my list left to do, is to pack, I might avoid bloody lists all together. Besides, I still have Thursday so I don’t know why I am putting all this bloody pressure on myself!
After all, as Scarlett would say, “tomorrow is another day.”