"Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well. Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next."
No musical accompaniment for this one - I don't have anything in mind, but I'm listening to "Happy You're Gone" by Placebo right this second if that helps.
I slid across the line and onto the plane with no safety margin, no time left, and nothing left in the tank. I cut it so fine my checked luggage weighed in at 22.8kg, and I was 8th-last to board. I originally had 40-50 minutes leeway until I picked up my suitcase and freaked out at how heavy it was, so I lost 10min pulling out some things I can live without for a while, then another 15min having Dave swing past mums place to drop them off.
The rest I lost when I realised just as we were pulling in to the airport that I'd left my Kobo on the side table in the living room. Dave managed to get home and back whilst I did my bag drop and pre-flight nicotine-fix, handed it to me through the window of his car and I bolted for the gate... after he did a quick bog-lap of the car park to give me my keys back.
Then I ran.
From the moment I sat down in my nowhere-near-as-comfortable-as-my-usual seat I've been falling inexorably sideways, sliding over the surface of the globe on a shockwave generated in the space where physics and mechanics meet. Moments like this remind me of an Andy McNab book I read half of once where he talks about parachuting. All the planning of your jump, packing the chute, double- and triple-checking, ends the moment you're in freefall. At that point the only way is down, so stop worrying and get ready for what you need to do when you get to the end. The same goes, in a way, for falls of much smaller distances. If you trip you can flail and struggle on your way down and try to prevent it, or accept the fact that you're falling and focus on what's important; it's not the fall that hurts after all.
So I had to dump a bunch of things with my mother, but they're mostly boxed up well enough I can call in a courier pickup when she gets back from the trip she's on.
I'd completely forgotten that one of the power sockets in my (old) bedroom has a damaged mounting and is hanging loose on the wall, but it's safe enough so long as you don't go poking the back of it and I've already called in my Pocket Sparkie.
I left the place a lot messier than I'd have liked, but I apologised whilst waiting for Dave to get back and will book a cleaner for them.
I've missed, forgotten, or dropped the ball on a whole lot of odds and ends, but I can't change or prevent any of that now. I have 61min now before I hit the ground, so far better I focus on ensuring it's my shoes which catch and release the pavement with a rapid cadence.
55 min (I just zoned out staring at the cursor blinking patiently in front of me) and I need to start running again; every step another fall. No point in kicking and screaming, just keep kicking the ground to keep my feet between my face and the pavement until, one way or another, the falling comes to an end. As the Pete-pocalypse draws closer that's all I have room for. Whatever the other side looks like, I'll kick that in the face when I get there.
Regards,
Peter.
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