Well it must be, because I couldn’t be further from calm and composed at the moment.
If waking up with a cold on Wednesday morning wasn’t enough to send me into a wild panic, I am moving house and my move in date has been set for May 31 — not only a work day but the night of our second last show.
Moving house is stressful enough with nothing else to worry about. Try having a snotty nose, pounding headache, aching joints and sore throat while preparing to sing two solos in your first leading role at the same time.
It’s madness I tell you. But, once again, the story of my life.
I have been slowing packing over the past few weeks, but while I’ve managed to fill several boxes it doesn’t seem to be making much of a difference.
It’s amazing what I’ve accumulated over the past nine years of living in Moama.
I’m not exactly a hoarder, but I am quite sentimental so you can imagine how much stuff I’ve kept from when the girls were little.
On the other hand, I have also rid my life of about 200kg of crap. So moving does have its benefits.
I had hoped to move in once the show was over, but it was not to be — so now all that fun stuff associated with relocating and not just across town but over the border to Echuca is something I have to look forward to in the middle of showtime.
Thankfully, my sisters Signe and Tara arrive this week so their fun trip away will be more of a working holiday.
Now, I must remember not to let Signe lift heavy boxes because she’s seven months’ pregnant, so I’ll leave her to cleaning the floors and cupboards.
Something that may prove challenging since she is bringing her four-year-old daughter and Tara’s destructive two-year-old boy is coming and likely tot ransack the house.
Let’s hope my cold will have run its course by then and I don’t sound like a huskier than usual Morticia come Friday night.
Whatever the case, the show must go on. Snot or no snot.
18°C