It’s all starting to get a bit real now. My emotions don’t quite know what is normal any more and I often carry a small ball of heat in my chest which can only be described as a mixture of panic and excitement causing mild indigestion and a raised heartbeat. I move in a matter of weeks.
It all felt so far away in January because I wasn’t leaving until ‘next month’. February lands on Friday. As of Friday the countdown is in the same month and the move date is only weeks away. My friends, colleagues and clients keep asking the same question over and over again:
“How is all the prep and packing going?”
And whilst I appreciate their interest in my life a tiny bit of anger and frustration washes over me when I’m asked. It’s a completely irrational response and I don’t know why it gets me worked up. Maybe it’s because I’d like to have any other topic of conversation other than how I am to pack up my 30 years in the UK and move 3,000 miles away from everything I know using one 25kg suitcase. My shoes alone weigh 25kg.
Maybe also it’s because I hate to get too excited by anything. This is because as a child if I got too excited I would make myself sick and as an adult if I got too excited by anything I would end up disappointed. So far all my paperwork is back from the various organisations and in a big brown envelope in my handbag. It all now needs taking to the embassy in Knightsbridge to be processed. The embassy is open Monday-Friday, 9am-4pm. I work Monday-Friday, 9am-5pm. My office is also an hour away from Knightsbridge. So right now I am in no-man’s-land. I know I am going in two weeks, I know I only have one more hurdle to overcome and I know I cannot get my flight details sorted until I have jumped the last hurdle. If I don’t get this bit sorted I’m not going anywhere in two weeks. It will be sorted though, trust me. It might just all be a little last-minute. I can see myself at the embassy on Monday, getting flight details on Tuesday, packing up my life on Wednesday and leaving my loved ones on Thursday, settling in to Kuwait on Friday, chilling on Saturday and starting work on Sunday. Craig David couldn’t have planned that better!
To distract myself, I’m using any excuse to socialise. It seems people do actually want to say farewell (or share my love of finding any excuse for a party). I met my aunt and cousin for dinner in London on Sunday night and the weirdest thing happened as I left. I see the pair of them once or twice a year so if I fly home for Christmas I’ll see them then and so my move won’t actually have changed all that much. But as I descended in to the depths of the Bakerloo line after hugging them both goodbye, hot tears stung my eyes and my chest felt really tight. Then I realised that if I was holding back from sobbing at that point, how the hell was I going to cope with saying goodbye to my mum and dad at the airport. This set me off. I apologise to anyone on the tube that night that had to witness my deep breathing as I tried to swallow down the tears. I must have looked funny.
This weekend I’m adding alcohol to the goodbyes. It’s my last night out with my best friend/partner-in-crime/surrogate sister/ex housemate/princess. Due to her flying to America on business next week and flying home the day I should be flying away, this Saturday is our last night out together.
I have a feeling I’ll need waterproof mascara.