We’re in the middle of a snow storm here in Cork, except the snow is currently missing. There’s a beautiful blanket of it on the ground from the previous night, but a promised 7pm blizzard has failed to materialise as we creep past 11pm.

The quiet is freaking me out a little.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to write here or not today. It’s my husband’s birthday (40 now, like me) and the morning was a busy and when I hadn’t written in the morning then I might as well wait until the kids are in bed and it’s quiet and there’s peace.

But then I didn’t want to. Or I wanted to procrastinate more. Or I wanted to ruminate on my anxiety and amp it up until it was all-consuming and so I wouldn’t have to bother managing it, because how could I possibly be expected to manage a condition that had gotten so out of control.

We were meant to be flying to London tomorrow morning. We have tickets to see Hamilton in the West End for Saturday night. We’ve two nights booked in an amazing hotel in Whitehall. We have childcare arranged. The dogs are in kennels.

I spent a chunk of the week worrying about and organising Personal Day cover for work so that I could take the day, but it transpires that the schools are closed anyway, and the planes are grounded and it didn’t matter.

Childcare organisation for the Friday was not uncomplex; initially my mother was to pick the boys up from their childminder and bring them to Kerry, but the roads are impassable and also my father has the flu and the boys are recovering from chickenpox and so on and so forth. So we reorganised for my brother to mind them here in our house, and I wrote a lengthy document describing all their care and feeding for the weekend.

But this also turned out to be unnecessary.

I mean, it will still hopefully be necessary from Saturday morning through to Sunday afternoon.

But I don’t know.

I’m not good with unknowns. Since this snowstorm was forecast I’ve been spending about a third of my waking time pouring over multiple different weather apps, straining my amateur eyes over radar and sattelite maps on my phone screen, willing the weather to behave the way I want it to, stomping down on any part of me that might be listening to what the facts actually say.

I still don’t know if we’ll be flying Saturday. I hope we will. But more than anything, I just want to pull my head out of it’s constant future analysis and balancing.

I was already living in that country at least a bit, even before the weather and the cancelled flights came into play. I was there even before the boys got chickenpox and through an additional layer of stress and life-management difficulty onto our daily lives.

Have I mentioned before that I often suffer from emotional amnesia? Well right now I feel like I’ve spent a year in the “haven’t got my homework done” brain state.

Do you know what I mean? That scary sinking sick feeling of having shirked your responsibilities or having failed to prepare well enough and now you’re going to get found out, and oh! the shame and the humilitation.

Of course it hasn’t been a year of feeling like that. We’ve less than a year of my witterings here and it’s pretty evident that even six months ago I was in a different brain space. But it doesn’t feel that way.

I’m feeling a bit worn down and ground away. I’m tired of coping with this (these?) emotions. I want a break from it. I keep thinking of the escape of alcohol. I’m far enough away from the accumulated bad effects that I was experiencing a year ago to not feel scared of them. And didn’t I always say that if I ever wanted to drink again, then I would.

But. That’s just it. I don’t. I don’t want to drink. I just want to stop feeling the way I do right now. Those aren’t the same thing.

Okay, sure, alcohol consumption will have a side effect of changing my current mood, but it will all just build up and hit me like a ten-fold boomerang at some future point. And it will have a whole bunch of other side effects too.

No. I might be feeling pretty miserable right now, but I can see one surefire path to feeling even more miserable. The other way may lie uncertainty, but within that I can probably spark some hope too.