peas and pods

Under two weeks until I move flat now, and the feeling of stress and dread is gradually being eroded by the fact that I am aware that I'm getting things done. I seem to have spent much of the last week on the telephone, arguing with utility providers and my bank, chasing my letting agent, trying to close things down which need closing and open others which demand my attention. So far, broadly, so good.

But I do realise that doing all this makes me feel grim; I've had to buy some furniture and I hate making expensive purchases, it makes me feel sick. I've had to make arrangements over the phone, which I hate too. And I hate waiting for some future event. When I feel better again, like I do now, knowing that the job is done, I reflect there's another reason I'm behaving this way, and that's because I'm exactly like my father. Trying to sort out some online banking problems yesterday I felt positively black; irritated and morose, and looking back I think I was mirroring him exactly when he is feeling under pressure and put upon.

To be clear, my dad is really lovely, and not a bad-tempered person, but since I was a kid I've observed him becoming occasionally snappy and morose ahead of any stressful situation, however superficially happy they are; the only times he ever shouted at me when I was young were in the days preceding summer holidays, or in the days leading up to Christmas. His moods don't last long, happily, and he never holds on to it for long. My own instincts are definitely tempered by my mother's ceaseless good cheer, but in this respect I'm exactly the same.

That's because we're the same, I suppose.

The good news is that in a couple of weeks I'll have moved, and this blog will be back to its normal, sunny self.