GET A GRIP! These three words have been running through my head all day today. I am STILL ironing and I recognise this has nothing whatsoever to do with wrinkled clothes and a lot to do with my unquiet mind. Imagine the scene: my clothes are everywhere, and I am not exaggerating, they are everywhere. The kitchen has a sink full of dishes, the dining room table is covered in magazines, newspapers and unopened post. The bottom of the stairs is stacked with clothing waiting to go upstairs. The small room I call my own is scattered with make-up, books, papers, shoes and spare bedding. Ralph's office, well, for those who know him, is Ralph's office and I AM GOING DOOLALLY. (The origin of this wonderful word is Indian Urdu, apparently a hill station in India where British soldiers were sent for rest cures for mental problems was a name that sounded like 'doolally' and soldiers going mad were said to be going to doolally.)
I genuinely want to start packing. My flight leaves tomorrow midday and it is getting close, but I cannot bring myself to decide exactly what I want to take. How many pairs of shoes, what sandals? Will I be walking much? Do I need a jacket? Should I bring my camera charger? Why did I eat that whole tub of Haagen Das ice cream? All of these unanswerable questions are running in an endless loop in my head. When I think of one more thing to take and even write it down, there is an immediate other thing screaming for attention.
I am not sure I can do this. I have, in the past, been a bit nuts about travelling and flying,but this seems far worse. Maybe it's the rushed quality of the whole trip? Too many places in too short a time. Maybe it's the prospect of seeing my family, though there aren't so many of them and we can drink ourselves into a pleasant oblivion if it becomes too much. Maybe it's also to do with seeing my father though I saw him in March and it was OK.
I begin to think that I am in a space in my life where I cannot deal with any sort of upset. Any wavering from routine and I start to get anxious. I spotted this in myself quite a while ago and have tried to work with the tools I already have to deal with this. Being mindful and not catastrophising, breathing, chanting, and acknowledging all the things I have done successfully. This is all well and good. I'm sure these techniques all help, after all, I still haven't pulled my hair out or exploded like poor old Rumpelstilskin, but I do feel a bit like I did when I was in labour with my daughter almost 40 years ago - when I got to the transition stage of labour, the stage when massive amounts of adrenaline pump through your body to prepare it for childbirth, I was instructed by my natural childbirth teacher to memorise a rhyme or sing a song to take my attention away from the outrageous pain. I still remember moaning in pain and Ralph advising me to sing. "Sing!!!???" I said, "you lie here and go through this pain and you fucking sing!!!" It all seemed such a good idea in theory but in reality it didn't go so well. This is what seems to happen to me with all these relaxation and stress-reducing techniques.
I am happy that time to prepare is running out. Soon I will have to stop ironing and fussing. Soon I will lay all my clothes out on the bed, see that there are at least ten different things that I won't wear and I'll jettison them and begin to actually pack. At that stage, the whole process takes about thirty minutes and then I'll be done. I'll probably have too much nervous time on my hands this evening and early tomorrow morning so I will use the extra time to nag my long suffering husband. In the morning I become what he calls 'the speaking clock' announcing the time every few minutes as a way of telling him to hurry up. I appreciate that from his side this is infuriating and I still do it. It's as if my teeth can't stop the words from falling out.
Maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time I have used up all the doolally energy in the past few days and by tomorrow I will be cool, calm and collected. Maybe I will sail through the morning in a state of bliss. You never know, miracles happen.
No comments:
Post a Comment