Yesterday was lovely, weather wise. The sun was out but forgot to throw in the heat.
The plan was to pick up my daughter from school, have a mini panic buy from the posh deli in the town then get home before it became dark.
My husband and sons would go into Perth to get their Chrismas shopping - they were going with a list of 'suggestions' and it was noted in Capital Letters that there were to be no axes (which the Farmer gave me as best present last year.....), no wellie boot socks size man 12, no novelty scent packs with beer glasses adorned with Homer Simpson saying 'Doh'.....none of that.
I got ready to leave and realised that this was not such a good day, mentally.
"Please not today", I muttered but there was a strong sense of panic and an overwhelming urge to retreat to my safe haven ie not step over the threshold of the door.
Agoraphobia is such a bind.
You try to allay the anxiety churning like butter inside and try to remember the coping techniques. You try to remind yourself that you are not having a heart attack despite similar symptoms.
I decide to do the journey in little bits. Get to the main road, get on to the A9 <panic> get off the A9 asap etc. Channel Ray Mears. He can do anything.
After a long journey, I arrive at the school. I want to vomit but know this is socially unacceptable so desist.
My daughter is delighted to see me and her face lights up when she sees me peep through the classroom window.....you are reminded that this is why you would wade through floods or fight crocodiles (or drive on the A9).
I chat with the Caring Lady, a beautiful woman whom we all adore. She is one of human's gems and has such a gentle, sweet aura plus she understands so many aspects of fellow man and articulates them beautifully.
Her words give me food for thought.....
My daughter and I set off for the journey home. It is beginning to get dark and I don't want to be on the A9 where everyone rushes despite the temperature turning very cold and a possible risk of ice.
"Mum, could we please celebrate the end of terms with a fish supper?" asks my daughter.
A fish supper is a rare treat and the chippie in town is one of the Best in the World.
We hit the chip shop and our teeth water at the lovely smell - my daughter places her order and is thrilled with the little wooden forks. She gathers a few and makes a tiny crocodile while she waits.
We go back to the car and she begins to eat her supper- I am instantly rueful that my expanding waistline fobade me from getting some chips but there you go. She offers me one chip and it is devine.
We hit the dreaded A9. We are sprayed by a passing lorry and the windscreen fills with muddy salt and diesel sludge. The wipers stop working and I cannot see. Panic.
I pull over into a layby and climb on to the bonnet. A convoy of lorries whizz past and shake the car and I mutter a Swear.
The wipers get shoogled and I poke the screen water sprayer with a toothpick in a futile attempt to get something to work. A primal scream sits in my throat.
We continue on the road using a combination of hanging out the window to see and cleaning the worst bits with a Co-op bag, eventually we pull off the A9 and I feel drained. We are now on the country roads and at least there will be few oncoming cars to obliterate my view like the big lorries did.
I feel about 105 years old.
"Magic fish supper, Mum, that was the BEST tea ever", she says happily.
"Mfffph", I reply, incapable of coherent speech.
"Mum, we must do it again!".