It feels like Christmas Eve... like the original Christmas Eve, where it was less about opening presents and more about trying to squeeze a doomed child out of a donkey battered vagina and then keep it safe from a maniacal tyrant.
That's a fairly good summation of how I'm feeling on the day before the shows kick off.
It's like I have twins; I have QimP - thd golden child with no worries, no panic about his future, absolute confidence in his temperament... and then I have Ink; Ink has colic, has the aura of the beautiful about her but needs taming and likes to sneak out of her bedroom window and then return a few hours later smiling coyly and refusing to accept grounding as anything that might faze her. I love Ink; she is going to be the jewel in the crown of my life to date... once I've beaten the crap out of her and made her sit still for 3 weeks so people can get to know her.
The weather in Edinburgh seems to be playing some sort of "take it in turns game" of being solidly pissy for 12 hours and then blazing us with sunshine and wind so that we have no idea whether it's safe to leave the house in our clothes. I've found it's best to dress like a confused, layered eskimo who desperately needs a wife.
To make matters intensely more frustrating my delightful digestive system has just entirely ceased to work. It's less than ideal... I haven't been hungry for about 36 hours now and am occasionally throwing a rice cake in only for my stomach to look at me ambivalently and then make a mental note not to return it for at least a week. I'm not even sure what to begin doing about it now... do I take an old woman approach and swallow a series of weird animals in the hope of something kicking into life? Or do I just pretend it's all fine and watch myself begin to expand like some sort of asp? Of course, the third option is to just be as stubborn as my tummy and tell it that if it won't be hungry then I won't eat... unfortunately, as much as I anthropomorphise my body parts I occasionally have to concede that we're all connected and that it'll bite me on the ass eventually - flexible.
So am I going to get a really good night's sleep tonight in preparation for the realisation of the last 20 years' dreams? Am I heck. We're off out for a cast meal out and I've decided (in the last 9 seconds) to find out if red wine will do anything to induce labour on my rice cake baby (I am fully gross I realise but at this point I'm more concerned with health and brilliance than a future husband so just avert your eyes if you are offended). Then I am off to see a friend's show at The Gilded Balloon at 11pm, after which I will return home and continue gluing pieces of newspaper together... what a life! Wouldn't have it any other way.