This is happening — and is has been organised by the highly efficient and very talented Cindy. She has a great post with all the bodies who will be attending.
Sounds great. I am sure it will be better than great. More great!!
Right?
Me? I am feeling nauseous. I have neck sweat and the feeling of bile sitting in the back of my throat.
I do love social anxiety.
I checked my diary – it is the 9 August 2014 – nine days away. Only 8 days. I can already see myself staring at the ceiling at night wondering what hell I have set myself up for.
I am sure it will be lovely.
I am sure it will be more than lovely.
I am sure it will be fabulous.
I am sure I will trip as I walk in.
I am sure I will be more socially awkward than normal, which is already pretty sad and tragic.
I really am feeling a bit ill.
I am trying to work out whether I can write myself a sick note.
I get flushed at the thought of having to make conversation with anyone.
I called Charlotte and asked her if she would hold my hand — the entire time. So we are going. Like a couple. An awkward couple. She suggested we drink Appletizer. I suggested she take her medication. {no I didn’t}
