This morning didn’t exactly start off well.
For one thing, I only went to bed at 6am, knowing full well that I needed to be at city hall to get a new passport a few hours later. So when Mamma Boyd woke me up…
Have you ever felt so exhausted from an all-niter that it feels like someone’s dropped an anvil on your face? That your eyes are being held open by tiny spreader bars, making you afraid to even blink?
I shit you not, that’s exactly how I felt this morning. I was due to meet up with our cleaning lady, who would pick me up after her meeting. So, I waited for her at the reception.
Minutes ticked by.
And then I overheard a frankly alarming conversation. The man behind the counter had been informed that the main passport system in Brussels had gone tits up and that they had no idea when it would … go tits down.
To give you a hint of how panicked I was: I have to leave for London on the 30th. The passport takes two weeks to arrive. I can not afford to get it any later. And I am not even allowed access to the UK without it.
Add to that the mother of all panic attacks, and you’re there. Congratulations, you are now officially as freaked out as I was.
In hindsight, I really shouldn’t have worried.
I left my home phone number, so they could contact me when the system was back up. After meeting up with the cleaning lady to go arrange something together, mamma called. They’d called to say the system was back up.
So, in effect, I had stressed out for absolutely fuck all.
But I shouldn’t be surprised. This is, of course, the age of stress. I saw a report on yoga classes for toddlers last week. To hear children as young as 6 talking about how they can’t sleep due to bad thoughts breaks my heart. The reporter talked about increased stress in the class room. There is apparently a very high need for children to succeed these days, and this is conditioned into their minds from a very early age.
A yoga class for kids under six was also shown. These kids come in with their mothers, because they need the time together. It seemed to be some sort of bonding ritual. But the narrator made it sound like mums do this to quench the guilt from being at work and missing their kids growing up.
Should we really blame parents for this pique of stress in young children?
Or is it that social pressures have crossed the final frontier and are firmly aiming their poison arrows at pre-schoolers and first graders?
As I’m writing this, I realize that I’ve firmly meandered into something completely different from I was supposed to post. But in a way this relates.
Stress is now hitting everyone at every age. And the fact that I freaked out at something like this shows that I’m among the people who have become so highly perceptible to every little irk and quirk that it’s making it impossible to go through the day in a relaxed state.
Anyway, that’s just my two cents. And now, back to your regularly scheduled sexy time.