He leaves work this lunchtime for two nights up near Aylesbury and I get him back on Thursday evening.
The trouble is me - I do what I do with everything that bothers me - I bury my head in the sand and wait for wind erosion. I cross my bridges after I've come to them, or at least if I feel I got to them too soon, I sit on the grass and play with my toes until it's time to be herded across by force of necessity.
Issues don't entirely go away, I just have this bloody stubborn streak that refuses to allow them to slow my stride, affect my day etc, the inevitable upshot being that they skew my stride and scupper my day in a million little ways, like cognitive seepage. Apparently I am an 'in time' type and not a 'through time' type, which is wonky-speak from NLP and time line therapy. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.
This would be brilliant if I was a natural born multi tasker. Maybe I am, maybe the tasks are just too multi. Heard of the straw that broke the camel's back? My camel has an indestructible back, she's a stubborn, tough old girl, which only means that her legs buckle slightly instead, and she just keeps trying to go forward, but ends up careering all over the place like she's been on the jolly juice and making some very disconcerting noises.
If I said to you that was my effort at an apology for talking complete and utter bovine excrement in my (well meant) comments over the past couple of days, I hope you would accept it whilst appreciating just how inebriated my camel appears to be.
Self analysis so far then:
- I like to multi task and do things as they demand my attention, switching jobs depending on what takes precedence. I like to think I am flexible.
- Underneath that I am an intense control freak who needs certain demands on my time to be set in stone, otherwise I can't cope with all the extra freedom
My answer is both. I am used to being ready at the whim or need of family. Then again, I engineered that, I put myself there.
I feel like a hyperactive kid removed from her playpen and put in a field. The walls have gone. I could do anything I damn well please, and yet, instead I panic slightly and just sit there looking dazed.
Is there such a thing as emotional agoraphobia? Choisophobia? No thats Old English, not Greek and umm maybe its time to just wander off into another room now and find another routine that I am failing to function with instead of blogging, because I have got to the point now where I'm certain I don't have the first flaming clue what I'm on about today, anyway, and, err, yes. If I didn't already live here, now would be a good time to get me coat.
Rhetorical question: If you are mad, is there any point to self analysis?