If there’s one activity I hate, it’s having to put my books in boxes when I don’t know exactly when I’ll be unpacking them. It’s not something that’s good for the soul, and today has been very little other than packing. I’ve got to that point where the books are 90% done, but everything’s gotten very diffuse and odd, and the last 10% seems to take five times as long as it should do. I seem to be bouncing between feeling incredibly overwrought and breaking down every five minutes, and a very peculiarly blank feeling of emotional numbness. It does, at least, feel as if I’m trapped aboard a ship that’s plunging into a Black Hole- it doesn’t really feel like anything exists beyond next Monday, and it’s going to be exceptionally odd (and not to say a little traumatic) to actually get there.
I did at least have a tremendous time at the Gollancz party last night – I was even kindly given a lift, so I could get drunk with impunity. Thankfully, I avoided getting weird and emotional drunk, instead plumping for kooky and eccentric drunk (which is always more fun). Had some great conversations, some great laughs, and I’m also reminding myself that just because I’m moving to Manchester, it doesn’t mean I’m falling off the edge of the world.
I’m going to be really, really glad when this is all over. Well, to be honest, I’m probably going to lock myself in a room and do an operatic amount of sobbing. But then, after that, I will be glad. I’m doing this for the right reasons, and at least this way I have the hope of making things better.
Tick tock tick tock…