Remember my last smug post about having a ludicrous amount of this magic-like-fairy-dust spare time as a laissez faire Lady of Leisure? And that other smug post about feeling so YOLO and prepared and that everything will be hunky dory? Well, in fact, it has turned out that there actually has been quite a bit to sort out at the last minute and that last minute has come around very fast. It’s like, right now. And am I as prepared as I thought I was?
I’ve done the part where I’ve had a great time seeing all my friends and going to yoga with the yummy mummies during ‘working hours’ and riding countless fuzzy heads from farewell drinks knowing my alarm doesn’t have to be set for silly o’clock the next day. But this laissez faire attitude has meant that my to do list isn’t even remotely done.
My diary between now and D-Day is full of emergency waxes, hair appointments, reminders to exchange currencies, reminders of reminders and even more dinners and drinks to say goodbye (again) to my wonderful friends and family.
I’ve also had to go to Curry’s more times than I care to admit for things I realised might come in handy, like perhaps, oh, a camera and maybe an iPad. I suppose photos and reliable communication would be handy.
Thankfully the packing and streamlining bit I nailed down earlier as I began to start moving out of my flat, unleashing my ruthlessness in a big way, appalled at myself for the accumulation of stuff I didn’t need. And by stuff I mean 8 big blue Ikea bags of clothes, shoes and godknowswhatelse.
The charity shops in Brixton knew me by first name after moving week. (Hi Eva, if you’re reading this!)
Now in my more stripped-back days – t-minus not so long – I have been getting used to a life in limbo and minimalism, dressing out of my backpack in easy washables and jersey tees to take me through my days and unfortunately any dinner dates. My new (and only) look is casual, at best.
The t-minus not so long spectrum of emotions are ranging from excitement to panic and needless to also say I’ve had a few sleepless nights where I’ve stared at the ceiling fretting about everything. Everything from forcing myself to remember to get passport photos tomorrow, yes tomorrow, (which I should have done weeks ago); to I hope my alarm goes off on Saturday morning; or a recurring, have I packed too many pairs of shoes?
Up to now – and including – I’ve also been quite good at hiding any other emotions involving real feelings, which suits me fine as I’m not a big one for tears. Hence the drop off airport ban.
Plus, goodbyes are the worst. Let’s all play the denial game, can we? Right until t-minus-oh-I’m-actually-on-the-plane-now.
Regardless of how I feel or how many to do list items I still have to tick off, it is now imminent. I fly on Saturday morning. Just 4 sleeps from now. Shit is getting real.