Seriously falling apart

Most people do not have a total nervous break down over a washing machine, right?
Most people do not have their washing machine catch fire, survive without a machine for 3 months because they can't get sufficiently organised don't have time to sort out having a new one delivered.
Most people don't have 60 odd pairs of knickers and socks, or a surprisingly large number of people prepared to do their washing for them.
Most people, having finally hit the holidays, would get the new machine delivered, old one removed, and all would be well, right?
Well, plainly, I am a total fail at being most people.
Managed to order a machine, in between deciding that decorating bedroom and taking doors off all over the show was essential, on the hottest days of the year.
Decorating is obviously not going to plan.

Ooops. This is why I'm not allowed power tools

This is what happens when I'm left alone with nasty wallpaper.
To be fair, it's taken about 3 months to get to this stage.

Given that I live in a very small flat, taking one room out of commission is a big deal. But even so, most people would still be able to walk from room to room with out breaking things, mountaineering over things, or nearly knocking themselves unconcious when a glass door falls on their head (don't ask!)

Most people wouldn't leave it until the evening before the new washing machine was delivered to firstly unplumb the old machine, and secondly, to clear sufficient space - no mean feat at the moment - for the nice men from John Lewis to carry old machine out and bring in the new one. And if they did leave it til the last minute, most people probably wouldn't end up at total meltdown point, sat in the middle of the floor with a cupboard door in one hand, a hammer in the other, a bleeding toe, and no clue as to how the f****** washing machine was going to be moved. As breakdowns go, it was pretty spectacular - I haven't cried that much for nearly a year - and nor have I kicked an inanimate object hard enough to make my foot bleed.

Unsurprisingly, I didn't die of despair, and neither did I hurl myself down the steps - steep, stone steps, kind of like the Beachy Head of staircases. Rather more surprisingly, to those of you who know me, I did call people rather than just cry until dehydration stopped me - and thanks to both Kaye and Rob for recognising genuine breakdown rather than dramatic tantrum, and for both coming to the rescue in their own way. I guess most people don't have friends who are quite as amazing (and long suffering) as mine are - so there are some positives to being somewhat off kilter with the world.

With the washing machine disconnected from the water supply, and waiting in the centre of my barely bigger than washing machine size kitchen, I calmed down a fair bit, and even managed to write a to do list for the next few - pre 40 - days. I was also exhausted in the way that an emotional blow out makes you - worse than a half marathon at full race pace - and glad to be heading for bed, particularly when Frankie'I hate being stroked when it's hot' Cat decided to drape himself over me and the entire bed. (Big cat. Possibly the reson for 'Surrey Puma' sightings!)

Every kitchen should have a Rob!

New machine arrived safely, and old one taken away - long story short, was unable to get new machine plumbed in owing to water hose from old machine being connected wrongly to the water piper, and thus refusing to move. And once again, I ended up sat on the floor behind a large metal box, literally screaming with frustration. Most people don't do this. Having learnt something from yesterday, called Rob - can he fix it nope. had to go to the local DIY shop for new parts once he'd removed the copper pipe from the kitchen wall good thing the shut off valve works yes he can... sort of! - and he came and confirmed that the hose was permanently attached to the pipe, so new bits of pipe were purchased and now, finally, I have a working washing machine. Which has so far managed to fulfill its washing machine job description without flames or steam billowing through the kitchen, and without any flooding. So far, anyway.

Surely most people can manage to have a washing machine without all this drama? What is wrong with me?
It worries me that problems I should be able to deal with become insurmountable crises, and knock me for 6, literally debilitating me. I feel disturbingly close to the edge - and I'm not hormonal. A grip is needed, or it'll be off to the Docs for the prozac potion, which I think has been agreed is best avoided.

Grown Ups are not supposed to fall apart over stupid little things. Good thing I'm still an embryo, really.

Sigh.
Sleep.
Better day tomorrow???
We'll see.

Some mutterings from an embryo

Hello.
Welcome to my new blog.

I'm going to be 40 next week.
This has come as something of a shock, which is particularly stupid, as I've had 39 years, 360 days to get used to the idea.
But it seems so grown up. And one thing no one has ever accused me of being is grown up. By 40, things are supposed to be settled, and sorted, and ... comfortable. Surely it's supposed to get easier by now?
Not in my world, apparently. I still feel like a teenager quite a lot of the time. Chaos is still the predominant adjective for my life. Something is plainly not right.

As the Queen of procrastination, I have spent most of my adult life putting off until an undefined 'tomorrow' anything and everything... and it's suddenly dawned on me that there is a serious danger that I'll still be half way through all the things I want to do when I'm 90.
So, its time to make some changes...

A very good friend said to me recently that the next 10 years should be the best 10 years so far... I'd like that to be true.

This blog is going to serve as an attempt to document my journey through the first year of this monumentous journey. Come with me, if you like. It may be a bumpy ride, but there might be a few laughs on the way!