I have spent the last three hours in a blind panic, thinking I had lost my purse. Some of you who read this will not be surprised.
The last three hours were also spent at J's 'sixth form open evening'. I concentrated as hard as I could whilst worrying about my bank cards and driver's licence and working out how early I could get to college tomorrow morning to check lost property. I found my student card in my pocket and the last time I saw my purse I was printing out some articles in the library. I was convinced I would find it there.
A few minutes ago I found it in our 'so-called' first aid box - the box
that's full of old penicillin prescriptions, a pot of crusty vaseline
and some random herbal sleeping tablets. The box that used to have
Calpol and those useless head thermometers. I had scooped it up after digging about for some paracetomol for The Worker whose patience, I can tell, is wearing quite thin. This is the first drama of the week but one of several since I started back at college - all minor, all solvable but involving quite a bit of faffing, dithering and hyper-anxiety.
I feel stupid and cross with myself for tonight's events. I'm nearly forty five. I'm not fifteen. I'm worse, in many ways, than the kids who seem, thankfully, to have inherited their father's organisational abilities, not mine.
I feel stupid and cross with myself for not concentrating, for not taking enough care of the important things by allowing myself to get distracted and disengaged simply because I'm rushing about and doing too many things without thinking.
It's time to start concentrating.