I leave for Japan in 3 days. We're not really discussing it in detail, though. It's 'The-Holiday-Which-Must-Not-Be-Named'. Everyone is swimming around in a big sea of unease.
As if to mirror my own sense of dread at the whole thing, the car broke down over the weekend. Yeah, thanks for that. Nice work. Not like I needed to be driven to the airport or anything. I was totally holding out for yet another thing to keep me anxious. Yay.
Sympathy pains aren't unheard of. The phantom ache or sharp pinch that tries to one-up whoever's genuinely hurting. It's like catching an itch - impossible, but SO real. It feels like the car decided to break down on purpose, in some attempt at misguided solidarity.
That's obviously insane. Or it would be to any sane person. I have not felt normal, sane or rational since I clicked 'Book now' on the flight that's about to change my life.
Superstition isn't something I put a lot of stock in. I once opened an umbrella indoors. When I need the bathroom, crossing someone on the stairs isn't given a second thought. Yes, I read my horoscope most days, but I don't live my life according to whether Mercury is in retrograde.
However. I'm flying on Friday 13th. (It was cheaper, okay?!) And ever since I booked it, things have stopped going according to plan. The car is just the tip of a malicious, cursed iceberg.
As a result, my stress levels are through the roof. I can hardly eat or sleep. Anxious me likes to compensate for this by going into organisational overdrive.
I have packed, repacked, changed bags, endlessly weighed them and then weighed them again. After confidently deciding which travel insurance plan was best, I bought the more expensive one instead. I can tell you what time my intended flight took off and landed every day for the past week.
There is a strong possibility that I will also break down at the side of the road before we get to the airport.