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smokingbootI was right; a walk and good company chased the symptoms away; by last night all gone.
Today was the original moving day; the people we are buying from had this mad idea of rushing it all through, I don't know, maybe to test our sincerity. We said we would do the best we could, but the survey hasn't been done yet, because of our buyer. I'm fine with that, a little less speed is good for all of us; but for all I love this house I am ready to go.
It's not London's fault either; she's seen idiot rulers come and go, and she's more than tough enough to deal with it, but I just can't bear this weird vibe that seems to be everywhere, a thickness in the air. When things are really wrong for me on an emotional level, I don't get headaches or stomach aches or a racing heart or sweaty palms; it's the breath that leaves me, like something stops my lungs filling. It happened when I heard about Mark's death, it happened when I recalled Dad's worst words to me. Suddenly it feels as though there's no more oxygen in my world, and breathing in and out becomes laboured, painful, eventually impossible.
That's an extreme I'm nowhere near at the moment, but there is a bizarre sense of something unpleasant permeating the atmosphere, something viscous, almost soup-like. It's everywhere. The country is obsessed with politics in the worst possible sense, not so much to change or reform, more in a build up of more and more anger; Boris Johnson spoke with typical verbal incontinence: “There’s a terrible collaboration, as it were, going on between people who think they can block Brexit in parliament and our European friends,” A terrible collaboration. What an inadequate prick the man is. He never can leave war jaw alone, and doubtless won't be pleased until all Remainers have been rolled in tar and feathers, having had their heads shorn.
It may be that Scottish Nationalism will be as rampant as the English version, but I doubt it. The Scots have not been as injured by an overblown sense of self-regard as their Southern cousins, and are more ready to see themselves as Europeans rather than displaced Masters of the Earth.
In any case, I want some air, literally and figuratively.
Today was the original moving day; the people we are buying from had this mad idea of rushing it all through, I don't know, maybe to test our sincerity. We said we would do the best we could, but the survey hasn't been done yet, because of our buyer. I'm fine with that, a little less speed is good for all of us; but for all I love this house I am ready to go.
It's not London's fault either; she's seen idiot rulers come and go, and she's more than tough enough to deal with it, but I just can't bear this weird vibe that seems to be everywhere, a thickness in the air. When things are really wrong for me on an emotional level, I don't get headaches or stomach aches or a racing heart or sweaty palms; it's the breath that leaves me, like something stops my lungs filling. It happened when I heard about Mark's death, it happened when I recalled Dad's worst words to me. Suddenly it feels as though there's no more oxygen in my world, and breathing in and out becomes laboured, painful, eventually impossible.
That's an extreme I'm nowhere near at the moment, but there is a bizarre sense of something unpleasant permeating the atmosphere, something viscous, almost soup-like. It's everywhere. The country is obsessed with politics in the worst possible sense, not so much to change or reform, more in a build up of more and more anger; Boris Johnson spoke with typical verbal incontinence: “There’s a terrible collaboration, as it were, going on between people who think they can block Brexit in parliament and our European friends,” A terrible collaboration. What an inadequate prick the man is. He never can leave war jaw alone, and doubtless won't be pleased until all Remainers have been rolled in tar and feathers, having had their heads shorn.
It may be that Scottish Nationalism will be as rampant as the English version, but I doubt it. The Scots have not been as injured by an overblown sense of self-regard as their Southern cousins, and are more ready to see themselves as Europeans rather than displaced Masters of the Earth.
In any case, I want some air, literally and figuratively.
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