I successfully navigated through airport to departure lounge. Anticipated traffic delays and security queues didn’t happen so I am three hours early. I found a loo and was so relieved to make it there without a Tena Lady moment I forgot to deal with the unhinged bra situation, so I still have a wayward bosom. I’m not sure I care any more. Am both relieved to have made it this far and yet have stomach in knots at next bit. But yay me for making it this far almost like a proper grownup does. You know, those COOL people you see on planes or at airports in cool shades and effortlessly cool clothes sipping Evian and looking so relaxed you just know they do this all the time, visiting friends in Prague or whatever looking cool. I bet they haven’t had five stress poops before getting this far on their journeys. No. They probably don’t even poo. I could pretend to be one of those cool people to try to trick my mind into calming down but if I put my prescription shades on indoors then it will suddenly be too dark to see very well.
I have plenty of time to get some food now. I’m anxious about it. I don’t want anything rich that will make me feel icky. I fancy the Japanese noodles but my chances of eating them without getting noodle sauce down my eu de nil Primark tshirt and mostly white Primark skirt are zero. Amchara is my sister’s place of work and not just her home now so I must not embarrass her by turning up with wonky boobs, chocolate face and noodle sauce down my front. I will spoil her new cool image.
Unless something dramatic happens, the next time I write will be after the flight. I must try not to cry, drop food down my top, soil myself, vomit, hug strangers, fantasise about which of the other passengers I would eat first if we were marooned on a desert island, nor start singing songs from ‘The Sound of Music’ like I normally do to quell anxiety. I will pretend to be cool and see how that works out.