The opposite of flying.

Time flies when you're having fun.

So what happens when you're not having fun?

It drags like nothing before.  Days turn into weeks and weeks into months.  I'm pretty sure it's actually possible for the clock to tick more slowly if you're miserable.

I'm going on holiday this week.  Obviously, in the heads of normal people, this would not inspire anything other than delight and excited anticipation.  If this blog has taught us anything, it's that I'm far from normal.  And so, predictably, I'm dreading it.

The main problem is that I hate being away from home.  I miss my bed, and I miss my family and I miss my house.  I miss my tidy, predictable compulsions and I miss my 'safe', age-old obsessions.  If worrying that your hair hasn't been cleaned thoroughly enough, or that you might not have made your bed 'right' enough is your biggest intrusive thought then it's plain sailing, yes?

And so here I am, in bed, hoping that - miraculously - in the next twelve hours, I develop a sickness bug (you'll never read that on another OCD blog!) or the whole holiday park is closed or something else happens to prevent me from having to go on holiday.  At this point I'd like to share with you the fact that I am only going on holiday for five days; I come back on Friday, and I will be sharing the week with my closest school friends - people who I've known for years and years.

I know that the trick is to keep busy all the time but, when you're in a house with five other people who like their sleep far too much and demand afternoon naps, this is difficult.  I'd sleep, but it's impossible when there's so much going on in your head.  I've got podcasts on my iPod for when I'm trying to get to sleep and I'm taking my puzzle books, reading books, knitting, sewing and my laptop.  I'm also hoping that my friends will want to go swimming and on other activities a fair amount.

So, I'll see you on Friday evening.  Wish me luck!