Remember when I was planning that great trip to Paris that then turned out to be a trip around Ireland that was five months away, which is forever?
Yeah, well, it's here, and we're leaving tomorrow, kissing the dog goodbye, locking the doors, and heading out for parts unknown (well, some of them are known to me, but not to Vor).
I am kind of in a hot panic about this--not just about things that need to be done, but the fact we are going. My mother in law (I really hate calling her that--she is another mom to me, in all the best ways) was diagnosed with breast cancer a few weeks ago, and we've been dealing with that, and I am truly worried about leaving while this is going on, but everyone keeps me waving me away, saying, "it'll be fine!" Have you ever seen the Italian Job? FINE = Freaked out, Insecure, Nervous, Emotional.
Then, my mother decided to land herself in the hospital, get diagnosed with something delightfully painful and chronic, but fortunately, easily manageable, but then land herself in the hospital again a few days later and come away with the bonus shady diagnosis of, "Hmm. There's a spot on your liver! What could that be? Meh. Who knows! Liver alone! heh." So, there are more follow up tests to come on that, with hopefully a more interested doctor.
There's been work drama, and a child on my caseload was brutally attacked, and Vor has been stressed out at work, and so have I.
And we're going to Ireland. I don't know if I should hide int he closet and miss the flight or run screaming towards customs, saying "Let me in! Where there is no cell phone reception! Where I can't get my email!"
I'm just going to turn on my Enya music on the airplane, and let the peace wash over me. That is what I need--peace.