10 February 2016, 5 am
The alarm goes off. It is icy and dark. I have a cold and my limbs ache. I have not slept well. My packed suitcase sits at the bottom of the stairs. Beside it are my boots, which I have to put on at the door because otherwise the sound of the zips wakes my husband (poor man). For the same reason, the hair dryer is in the kitchen, not the bedroom. My clothes are laid out systematically so that I can put them on in the dark (noiselessly); my breakfast is pre-prepared and cling-filmed (I am not allowed anything crunchy); the car key is in my right coat pocket ready for off. (I am only supposed to start the engine at the bottom of the drive. You have to be considerate about these things.) My body and my brain have an argument about whether to ignore the alarm. It does not last long, this argument, because my brain is not in operational mode. At the heart of the argument is the heretical idea that we could do today’s meeting with Mr Davies by phone instead. My brain is a bit cross it didn’t think of this before. The brain says: but then we will have to set off even earlier tomorrow morning to get to the other meeting which can’t be done by phone because it might require us to shout at the rest of the appointments panel. And the body says: yeah, yeah, tomorrow schmomorrow, and at least we won’t have to drag the suitcase along with us. The brain says: you know, you have a point. So I go back to bed. I will do the meeting by phone, and I will read the remaining CVs in the comfort of my own duvet. And I will try not to think about having to get up even earlier tomorrow morning, because that’s tomorrow’s problem. At least my clothes and boots are all set out ready. Maybe the breakfast will last another 24 hours too.
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