Holy Crap. I'm getting on a plane THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW and I haven't given one ounce of thought to it. This, according to my phobia, means that I AM OF COURSE GOING TO DIE because if you don't spend a week and a half dreading it, then you're getting far too relaxed about the whole thing, and that leads to madness and plummeting fiery death.
Flight details, so you can all sob and mourn my passing when it appears on the news:
GOING OUT
From Dublin(DUB) to London Stansted(STN)
Wed, 24/11/2004 Flight 224 Depart DUB at 1735 and arrive STN at 1845
Stupidly, I'm traveling with Ryanair who are of course the most UNSAFE AIRLINE IN THE WORLD (according to my phobia). But the cheapest way of getting from here to London, so it's swings and roundabouts really.
Weird day today, hence the double post. Spent all day with a vague notion of something not being quite right, but put that down to itchy feet and the slowly forming worry of flight coming up at me. Fired off the bitchy post below, which by rights should be deleted because it proves the neurotic, selfconcious maniac I can become on very short notice, but I'm going to leave it up for posterity anyway, because I'm stubborn as well. Emailed and texted various people, started applying for jobs, had a serious conversation with Mrs Bishop about moving out of home and generally didn't get much done, and then my sister arrives home to say that my Dad has spent the day in A&E having had a suspected heart attack that morning at work.
Much and all as we swear and yell at each other as a family, we're not good at communicating the important details, like "your father has gone into hospital". It's so frustrating that I tend as a rule to hear these things after the fact. Siblings, blood relations, if you're reading this (and I know that some of you do) - DO LET ME KNOW WHEN SOMEONE HAS GONE INTO HOSPITAL. I'd be happier knowing, you know. I enjoy the worry. Honest.
He's home now, having gone through a ream of tests. Nothing conclusive, other than they've said that he didn't in actual fact have a heart attack, but they've not said what actually happened, because they're not sure. We've all decided to take this as a good sign, and I think have etched it up as another thing that's happened that we are, as a group, to ignore. Again, I have to question how healthy that attitude is, but it's kept us together as a family for over 30 years now, so fuck it.
I'll be much chipper in the morning, I swear.
Flight details, so you can all sob and mourn my passing when it appears on the news:
GOING OUT
From Dublin(DUB) to London Stansted(STN)
Wed, 24/11/2004 Flight 224 Depart DUB at 1735 and arrive STN at 1845
Stupidly, I'm traveling with Ryanair who are of course the most UNSAFE AIRLINE IN THE WORLD (according to my phobia). But the cheapest way of getting from here to London, so it's swings and roundabouts really.
Weird day today, hence the double post. Spent all day with a vague notion of something not being quite right, but put that down to itchy feet and the slowly forming worry of flight coming up at me. Fired off the bitchy post below, which by rights should be deleted because it proves the neurotic, selfconcious maniac I can become on very short notice, but I'm going to leave it up for posterity anyway, because I'm stubborn as well. Emailed and texted various people, started applying for jobs, had a serious conversation with Mrs Bishop about moving out of home and generally didn't get much done, and then my sister arrives home to say that my Dad has spent the day in A&E having had a suspected heart attack that morning at work.
Much and all as we swear and yell at each other as a family, we're not good at communicating the important details, like "your father has gone into hospital". It's so frustrating that I tend as a rule to hear these things after the fact. Siblings, blood relations, if you're reading this (and I know that some of you do) - DO LET ME KNOW WHEN SOMEONE HAS GONE INTO HOSPITAL. I'd be happier knowing, you know. I enjoy the worry. Honest.
He's home now, having gone through a ream of tests. Nothing conclusive, other than they've said that he didn't in actual fact have a heart attack, but they've not said what actually happened, because they're not sure. We've all decided to take this as a good sign, and I think have etched it up as another thing that's happened that we are, as a group, to ignore. Again, I have to question how healthy that attitude is, but it's kept us together as a family for over 30 years now, so fuck it.
I'll be much chipper in the morning, I swear.