My last entry here was entitled ‘Tripping’. It was a fun and jolly swipe at the completely irrational fear* I have of ever again getting on a plane and visiting a foreign country.
* I would argue that ‘climbing inside a metal tube, strapped to gallons of highly explosive fuel and propelled to several thousand feet, all whilst in the company of a couple of hundred complete strangers’ is not necessarily irrational. But hey ho, semantics.
As stated in that piece, unfortunately my passport renewal did not get lost in the post, for which I’d paid extra, so I’m running out of iron-clad reasons to not go through with this. Although I am researching crimes to commit that may get me locked up until my passport expires, literally iron-clad. But a crime that will not make me look bad as a person. An act for the greater good. That kind of thing. I would be grateful for any suggestions.
My comment section on that post forced me to reveal how much I sweat the small stuff. It’s a survival technique based on distraction and control. I’ve never sweated the big stuff. Because I can’t control it. I just try and trust the Universe to get me to the other side in one piece. I may not know how that will happen, but I can distract myself along the way by getting in a tizzy over something obscenely trivial. You know that saying; ‘Can’t see the wood for the trees’? The wood is overwhelming. Let’s focus on picking up all the broken twigs and cleaning all the little leaves to make them shiny. Oh, that little leaf is pointing in the wrong direction and RUINING EVERYTHING!
A peek inside my head there.
Here’s me Not Sweating The Big Stuff;
- Flight cancellation. Bummer.
- Accommodation double-booked. Unfortunate.
- Return flight grounded due to Brexit happening whilst we’re away. Meh.
- Loss of luggage. Ah.
- The weather ruins our trip. Well, clouds will be clouds. Their rain. Their parade.
Here’s me Sweating The Small Stuff;
- Apparently it’s impossible to get on the wrong plane. So now I’m super worried about that, because the more improbable something is to happen the more likely it is to happen to me.
- Could I accidentally use an offensive hand gesture just by ordering cake?
- The accommodation hosts, whether that be a hotel or something that rhymes with Mon Cher, Sea & Brie (all I want in a holiday really), will know where we live. And for exactly how long we’ll be away. It’d only take one phone call and their crime syndicate associates in the UK will be breaking into our home, frightening our cat, alarming our cat-sitter and stealing stuff from our freezer.
- The likelihood of mispronouncing *insert foreign word for vegetarian here* and finding myself with half a goat to eat. And feeling ‘visitor from abroad’ obliged to eat it.
- Our house deciding to collapse into a heap of bricks whilst we’re away.
Obviously I’ll leave it to you to decide which, from the small stuff list, falls under the category of ‘distraction’ or ‘control’. Or perhaps you feel there’s enough evidence to add a sub-category of ‘crackers off-her-rocker twit, flapping around like a headless chicken, wasting time and energy creating a whirlwind of chaos out of nothing’.
Like I said; you decide.