Okay - I apologise. That last post was vitriolic. Welcome to PMT. Anyway - the hormones are in remission for today so here is a post that doesn't involve being mean.
I apologise for not being around for a while but I've come down with a very bad cold that has manifested as a hacking and painful cough. I hope you don't get it. It ain't pretty. I've been blowing my nose so much, my nostrils are red raw. I look a sorry state, splutttering and dripping bougars all over my sleeves and I'm doing my best to avoid public places that use strip halogen lighting as it makes me look like a crack addict.
I feel I'm over the worst of it though and not a moment too soon since tomorrow I teach my very first Hot Hatha class - and I mean all alone, just me, the whole hour. Well, I hope not just me, since that wouldn't really be much fun. I hope a handful of people turn up. I'm really very much looking forward to it but can't help thinking there is a coded message in a.) spraining/fracturing my foot a day before I take part in the yoga fund raiser for Haiti where I am forced to teach only a couple of seated postures and b.) getting this stinking, crippling cold just a few days before my real debut.
For now I will look at it as a blessing in disguise. I believe the pain in my foot and throat will distract from any nerves I may be feeling....I hope. I've been practicing at home most mornings, talking to an imaginary class (so what's new) like a proper mental patient - I mean whole dry runs, counting breaths and everything. It's equal parts heart-warming and pathetic.
In between role-playing yoga teacher and hacking up a lung, I've been absolutely ruthless with packing. Only the essentials have made it onto the pallette bound for the UK; Maybe a couple of sentimental mementos but outside of that I come very close to Dick Wittington with his hankerchief of worldly goods on a stick.
If I'd been just a little more organized I could have made 'millions'* through mum-to-mum sales but these will go to Goodwill now. The nipper will most likely get very confused at daycare as of tomorrow since I donated most of her 'baby' toys to them. The art of psychological warfare begins.
"What do you mean, you don't like peas? If you don't eat your peas teddy goes to daycare, to be pawed over by everyone. And I'm not even kidding."
To be fair she had almost outgrown it all. We'll have a ball replacing it all in London care of the sausage fingered destroyer of all man made thing's first wage! :)
Talking of the destroyer - he's done a great job selling the big ticket items. His car is gone, coffee tables, writing bureaux, sofa beds - you name it he's on the case with Kijiji. And he's been having lots of fun by the sounds of it. I have not been able to let him help pack because he only has to look at something and it collapses. So he pedals and I sort. He binges and I purge.
He has no idea what moving entails. I realized that when he sauntered home with a roll of bubble wrap that wouldn't stretch around a coffee cup and tape that wouldn't hold wrapping paper together. Still, I didn't marry him for his shipping skills I suppose.
The house is upside down - boxes everywhere and there is a sense of organized chaos. Sausage boy is in his element. He can legitimately leave things strewn about and I will let him have his fun because he will never have this freedom again. Gone is the spare bedroom in London for him to use as a clothing jungle jim; gone are the 2.5 bathrooms. In London, we'll have to make do with one and I don't want to gross you out but by the time Jim Jamalicious get round to cleaning his sink, it takes industrial drain unblocker. This will not be allowed in the UK. Gone also, in a way, is the room to move - so we will have to become a nice, compact, neat, nuclear family just like God intended. For now, I watch (in amazement) at how suffocatingly messy the boy is in the secure knowledge his days living like Stig of the Dump are numbered.
And now, I'm off to change into my combat gear as I need to make it through the obstacle course to the TV room by 6:30 or Coronation Street loses out to The BackYardigans.
*by millions I mean about $150 :)
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