Back Into The Swing Of It... Sorta

Off the plane at 3pm, repack the suitcase, load a warm coat and sweater, and my exercise elastic-stretchy-thing this time, and head back to the airport for an 11:30pm flight to Dubai. (And move the fridge from MJ's room into the maid quarters and of course it doesn't fit under in-built cupboards by a matter of millimeters.)

That reminds, me: I still haven't prepared any of that training I am doing (?I think) tomorrow, or the day after, or both. I don't know what to do, how to start. It's SALES and MARKETING - WTF do I know about that - I am clinical person!

I was trying to explain this fault in my character to Izzy. It relates to my lack of imagination. I just can't *picture* it, just can't pre-comprehend what I will be doing or need to be saying at the training. Where people will be sitting, what they want to hear. What I will write on the whiteboard, put in my PowerPoint. The fact that no-one has sent me an agenda (there's an agenda?) only enhances this sense of the fogginess of the future. There is a niggling thing going in my head, like guilt or apprehension of trouble: maybe *I* should have prepared the agenda...

I have no fucking idea how I get through each day, each year, this life.

~~~~~~~~~

Of course, things were cushy when The Mouse was around. The packing would be done automatically, I'd be blogging... I really miss the way on the weekend, or of an evening, she'd creep up with a cup of tea and a biscuit and scare the living daylights out of me. Then my reaction would cause *her* to flinch, and there'd be this little nervous giggle as she placed the cup and plate by my side: "Oh Mr Pillip, you frighten me!"

"And you gave me a freaking heart attack!"

Ah, the past...

Nostalgia: a foregone illusion.

E@L