Panic

You would think that I would remember that I'm supposed to move out of my flat in two weeks. And that I'm moving out of the country three weeks after that. But this morning, in the shower, I suddenly remembered: I'm moving next weekend. Not some indeterminate time in the future. Not a couple of months from now. Next weekend. Everything has to be packed into boxes, furniture disassembled, rubbish thrown out, skirting boards dusted. Freezer defrosted. Next weekend.

Somehow, I'd forgotten about this. Of course I knew in the abstract, but it wasn't in the forefront of my mind. I've been getting on with work and projects and dealing with various things that have cropped up. So I've sort of surprised myself. You have masses to do and you aren't prepared at all! SURPRISE!

There's also the small matter of not having anywhere to live when I get to the Netherlands. The university very kindly offered to set me up with housing, and then very unkindly retracted that offer. I've been handed the unfortunate task of having to flat-hunt online, without ever getting to see the place in question, and wondering if a) I'm ever going to find somewhere and b) if, when I finally get the flat, it's going to smell of cigarettes and sulphur, and have a floor that's actually just painted dirt. You never know until you see somewhere in person, do you?

So, yes. I am panicking. Just a little.