M is for moving

So the truck is booked and a rather over-smoked, husky sounding account manager has told me that all is in order. I leave this in her capable hands - despite not having done an inventory and with only a very vague email of what we own, G the account manager assures me it will fit in the truck and will be in Joburg on the 1st December. The insurance side of things makes me a little nervous. I notice in the small print we are not covered if the truck is hi-jacked. It is odd how you get used to things like that here.

I have been thinking about our move of late. In London despite living a mere 5 miles from work it took me over an hour on the bus. It was my commuter time... a great time for contemplation during which time I often resolved many issues to and from work (more so on the way; the way back was usually fighting the whirlie twirlies after a session in the pub). My life here has been very different. Most recently I have worked from home. Well actually from my bedroom. To be more precise, actually from my bed ....Before I divulge too much more how common is it for bosses to find your blog?

So I have had no commuting (it takes very little time to be up and ready for 08h30 when the most that needs to be done is a mere reshuffling of pillows) and thus I have little time for contemplation. So my time is now in the bath. With M asleep, M1, M2 and T fed and watered and J watching the box, I hit the bath and come up with fabulous ideas like writing a blog, or money making ideas like an online shop, a creche, to become a designer, vegetable crisps, organic frozen baby food, waterproof laptops so that I can capture the ideas that I later forget...you know all the creative ideas where I can lead a successful, relaxed, stay at home mum, kind of a life. Usually at my most creative or indulging my imagination, the cold water of the bath wakes me up to the rude awakening that in just over a month, the three humans in our household are going to have to be up (yikes), dressed (what not another track suit day?), fed (what happened to mid morning snacks when the emails slow down) etc and out of the door (wooohohoo, slow down I am beginning to taste vomit in my mouth) by 7am in order to drop M off in one direction, beat the traffic and be at work by 08h30. My boss' husband apparently lives off 3 hours sleep so I know that despite being deprived of these 2 hours sleep each day, I will survive.

It is odd though how this menacing thought of the changes in routine infiltrates my thoughts and affects me far greater than moving to the unknown.