There are now ten days before I will be on a plane, leaving England for ten months. I just typed that sentence then sat and stared at it for a good five minutes - I think. I wasn't really timing myself, because my mind may have gone into a form of meltdown known as 'pure terror on realisation of the imminent approach of the most adventurous and most nerve-wracking thing I have ever been stupid enough to sign up for, and I sign up for a lot of stupid things'.
On reflection, that feeling should probably have a shorter name. Now, if I was terrible dull/conformist/normal, I would just refer to it as 'nerves'. Ha! If I were slightly more dramatic (also known as 'cool'), I might refer to it as 'fear'.
I think I will call it fearror. Because why say 'fear', when you can combine it with a more dramatic synonym (terror) to make a much more descriptive portmanteau.
If I'm being honest, I shouldn't really have any reason to be feeling so much fearror. I have my visa. I have my ticket. My suitcase is almost completely packed! Which is fairly weird for me, being one of those people who packs when the parents are loading the car and yelling for me to hurry up or we'll miss the boat/plane/spaceship. But no! I have been prepared! Packed two weeks early! I am more prepared for this than I have been for, I think anything, ever.
Maybe that's the problem. By putting things off, I normally manage to escape thinking about it all until the last minute, whereas now, I've had months of having to actually prepare and think of more and more things that could go wrong.
Now that everything's practically ready, I have ten days to totally forget that I'm going to try and lessen the fearror. Yes. That is most definitely the best option now.
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