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20160329_110457At the moment I am struggling somewhat with messiness and procrastination. If I really sit and think about it, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of all the things that are going to change in the next few months, so I’m just not going to think about them. I’m also not going to think about anything else. Or rather, I shall think about everything, all at once, all at the same time.

I am utterly swamped in junk at the moment. In my office at work, I have an L-shaped desk. My stuff is all over that desk. No matter how often I corral the pens together and put them back in the designated pot, there are always at least three on the desk. I have also spread my stuff across the two other desks in the office that aren’t technically mine, but *are* available. And I have two tote bags on a chair and three large boxes – full of things! – under a desk and a chair. At home, my Crap Box (you know, the box you throw things into that you either Have To Deal With or don’t have a place, yet somehow don’t deserve to have a place made for them?) has exploded into two designated Crap Boxes and a Crap Tray and a Pile O’ Crap.

And then there are The Lists. If I’m not sweeping junk into boxes or rearranging piles of papers, I’m making lists – on my phone, in a notebook, on a random page, on a post-it that is never big enough, on the back of my hand. If I don’t write it down, I’ll forget it. If I do write it down, I have to highlight it or else I’ll not notice it. So now everything is scrawled and highlighted and I still become distracted and all over the place and I’m overwhelmed and suddenly I’m doing a Buzzfeed quiz about what kind of potato I am based on the shape of my belly button lint or some such nonsense.

It’s all very irritating.

It’s all very predictable.

In November, Fritz and I got engaged in Paris. It was lovely, we’re very happy.

And now the next stage starts. The stage where I have to pack up my life and move to Germany and be Me In Munich. And it took me so long to work out who Me in London is. So long.

I procrastinate and I awful-ise. I was in a business meeting the other day with a German chap and the whole way through I could only be jealous of his language skills. How fluent his English was, how his accent was Upper Class and he had business jargon at the end of his tongue. If anything, his English was probably better than mine. My German is nowhere near that level. And my brain automatically shifts from “his second language skills are better than mine” to “you’ll never get a job in Munich, you’ll never be able to hold your own in a conversation and you’ll hate all of it and ruin everything.”

There’s an episode of Buffy in which Giles tells her not to jump to conclusions and she replies “I didn’t jump. I took a tiny step and there conclusions were.”

I remind myself of that often.

I am also incredibly well aware that the only way to improve my language skills is to use my language skills and to actually make an effort. Obviously, I don’t want to because then I’ll realise JUST HOW HARD I will have to work and I’m beginning to think I’m quite lazy.

On top of all the moving-to-Germany-to-be-unemployed-and-friendless-forever is the realisation that I will have to plan a wedding. A wedding in another country. And I don’t know how to do that either. I don’t know how to do that in the UK, but I feel that Google could help me. For some reason I don’t think the same of Germany, which is ridiculous because people plan weddings in Germany every day and they certainly use Google as much as we do.

Plus, I’ll have to move house! Moving is the worst!

I know, I really do know, that everything will be fine. Life must move forward, change is inevitable. All new things are opportunities. My immediate future has many new challenges and opportunities for growth and development and fresh starts.

I’d wanted to write here about my new motto for the year: LESS IS MORE, but I’ve to run for a flight. I’m going skiing again. Who would have thought I’d be a “person who skis”? I mean, I’m not – not by a long shot – but maybe the Me in Munich is a person who might ski.

Or at least wear a ski jacket.

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