|Just more pissing and moaning today, kiddies...
||[Jan. 23rd, 2007|11:59 am]
|||||Varttina, Live in Helsinki||]|
Just once, I wish I could leave on a trip without the three to five days beforehand being a big screaming panicky rush of ten million things to do before I leave and what little time I have to get it done in, is always shortened by some "thing" or another: the party I'm cooking for before I leave has doubled its guest list, the snot fairy has e-mailed a sinus headache presaging her arrival, etc.
Thus, the Stages of Leaving on a Trip:
Stage 1: Realization. The sudden realization that in only X number of days, you're going out of town and all that stuff you've been putting off is going to have to get done before you leave. You had plenty of time and now you have, essentially, none. Somewhere there is a rule of physics that explains how this happens. Or am I just misremembering a Star Trek episode? Anyway, that leads to...
Stage 2: The Making of the List, when you start listing out all of the things you have to do: confirm the house sitter, pick up the dry cleaning...oh, man, I'm not so going to start listing it here, in fear that I'll jettison myself right back into Stage 3, just when I've finally made it to 8.
Stage 3: Complete and Utter Panic. There is no way you're going to get this done. You have a hard time trying to get things done with that high-pitched screaming sound in your head and sometimes waste even more time, collapsing in a fetal ball in the living room. Or trying to stave off the panic, armored with a six pack of cider and a DVD of Night Stalker episodes, which can help expedite your journey into...
Stage 4: Regret. This is when you start kicking yourself for having ever agreed to going on the trip, which seemed like such a good idea at the time, but now...you should have been more responsible and said no. You can't say no for shit! What the hell is wrong with you? All of the training and education and practicing skills, perhaps just one immersion class in "Saying NO" would have been a better investment of time. Maybe the mature thing to do is to cancel. But now it's too late and cancelling would actually be the immature thing to do. Besides the plane tickets are non-refundable. So you move to...
Stage 5: Blame. You start getting pissed off at all of the outside forces that have landed all of this shit on your list in the first place. Clients who double their guest list. Clients who skip sessions when your schedule is free and clear, but then need food just when what you really need is a cancellation. Virginia Faire. Whatever forces made me wind up with four cats and two dogs, which makes a housesitter difficult to book. Dry cleaners who aren't open late in the evening. Trader Joe's for being out of Knackwurst on the one freaking day a year I really, really have to have it....but this could go on forever. I love to wallow here, which of course, just makes the next stage harder..
Stage 6: Lunatic Stage. This is when you run around like a crazed weasel, desperately trying to get everything done. Alienating friends and colleagues who have no idea why blowing them off left and right, rushing them off the phone, answering their e-mails with terse, humourless sentences. Screaming at complete strangers because they're taking too long to back their car out of a parking space. Having brief spells of incredible productiveness interspersed with remembering that the library book that has to go back before you leave is still on the kitchen counter, along with the check you needed to deposit, AND the other Trader Joe's is also out of Knackwurst. Which is how you wind up in....
Stage 7: Jettison all Non-Essentials. Here's where you start pushing things off your to-do list like you're on a lifeboat with 12 people and one bottle of water. If it can possibly wait, you ain't gonna do it. Accept that you will incur $2 of library fines because you just don't have time for another trip to the library. That people will just have to WAIT for you to get back. You may re-visit Panic for a little while as you realize that the list is still too long...but that makes a nice transition into:
Stage 8: F-It. That's where I am now...and why I'm taking a much needed break amusing myself with this entry. The realization that you will get done what you can, what you absolutely have to -- the things that will keep you out of jail, out of bankruptcy court, the things that are necessary to the survival of others...well, others that you LIKE -- and everything else...too damn bad. You're only human and you work harder than most other humans. And deserve a little fun. So there.