The person sitting next to me keeps licking and tearing at the skin on her index finger. I get it - a cuticle thing, a tick - but it is unnerving because she then touches her laptop and the table. Would this have unnerved me as much pre-Covid? Would it bother me so much if I weren't en route to a day of doctors' appointments, assessments, and meetings with the former Mr and his future Mrs, followed by a dinner date? Sweet baby lambs, could I cram any more into a day?
Give me a moment: I shall endeavour.
The train - brimming with people as the weather has cooled - is standing room only, they say, but I spy seats and manage one without strife. I sit back in a moment of whiplashhow much has transpired in a year, in two, even.
There are no more emergency COVID tests, the unknown around my sweet departed papa is now known, the field office of the Bureau of Dead Parents is winding down. The goal is to be taking down the office by Jan 2023.
I'm flustered because I think I have an appointment (same clinic, same tests as just over two years ago, officially a free agent), but I can't find the confirmation. So I scuttle over to their office, confirm I do indeed, then rush to actually put food into my body because I am as nervous as a cat but am also ravenous, unusual in the AM hours for me.
The day is infinitely more manageable than yesterday. By 1030, the temperature was already 38C By the time the hedge was clipped (20 minutes later), it was 42C and the lethargy in my bones hurt. I still had to drive back to East Anglia. There was time for a brief nap before a playdate in Manningtree where - on the drive back - a property catches my eye. I make a note to find out more about it. Maybe this is the way for passive income? I ponder.
In the last few weeks, I've noticed a marked shift, a loosening. I am looking forward to things, planning things, ring-fencing time to recharge and prep.
But its more than that. I'm ac
The Divorce Party dates are set, I just need to confirm venues for the East Anglian celebration. I've got the big things sorted: catering, dress (obviously), playlist. I just want to be able to share and thank people for their support, to actually celebrate something MY way, you know?
At the Autism/ADHD assessment, I am buzzed into an anonymous Harley Street block. I walk up the staircase, feeling a bit like I'm in a Josephine Hart novel. Will tragedy ensue after decadently destructive sex? If the Dr looks like Jeremy Irons, do I run? Climb out the window? I place my palm on my chest, close my eyes. I am safe. I am loved. I am safe. I remind my mind that my body is not the enemy. I remind my body that my mind is not the enemy. I remind both that my heart is not the enemy. I breathe deeply, check the time. I'm just early enough, still two minutes from the appointment time.
It's weird how devoid of personality a room can be. This could just be a weird hustle, I think. A way to extort money from people. Not for the first time I wonder at the national obsession with recessed lighting. Why? I beg someone to explain this to me. It falls in with carpeting in loos and kitchen cabinetry that does not quite reach the ceiling in terms of petty annoyance.
In the end, it's fine, the initial assessment. I mean...it is what it will be.
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