I'm taking a break from a shit load of ironing to write this post. Then I have to finish the ironing, wash up, write a couple of lists, have a shower, pack, neck some wine and hope that it knocks me out. I was awake at 4am.
So. I went to the doctors thinking I'd walk outta there clutching a prescription for Valium. No such luck. The doctor obviously reads my blog and decided she didn't want to prescribe it to me (they're actually not allowed to prescribe it for use on flights anymore, damn the NHS). So I have to fly under the influence of alcohol instead, which can only end up going one way. Me, drunk, suspiciously eyeing up everyone incase they're a terrorist and having a panic attack at every bump in the air. I don't jest. FUCK YOU DOCTOR PARRY.
Time to get real. After a bit of an anxiety attack on the way back from the doctors, I pulled myself together. If it was anywhere else in the world (excluding Hawaii), I'd tell my husband to go alone. But it's New York and there is no way in hell I'm gonna miss this trip. I went on to the airline website and web chatted to the man, I told him I was probably gonna freak the fuck out once I got on the plane and he said that the crew would be there to help me. After a little pep talk with Jason, I felt slightly better. Then I browsed the website for a bit and felt a bit more at ease when I saw they welcome you aboard with a cocktail (with or without Vodka - no prizes for guessing which one I'll be asking for you smart arses), serve a three course meal (three courses! I'm a sucker for gross plane food. No, really) AND afternoon tea. Well fuck me sideways. And just like that, I felt a little better.
I don't know if I've just started to kid myself, I sometimes do that when I panic, or I'm genuinely a bit excited for the plane food and that has eased the worry...I'm not sure. I'll guess we'll find out soon.
(Please accept my apologies for all the swearing in this post, I tend to swear a lot more when I'm nervous)