I didn’t sleep last night. School’s over, but I feel like a total zombie. Getting up at 5:00 a.m. after falling asleep at 4:43 a.m. is NOT a good idea. Eight minutes’ sleep does not give you a clear head.
Eight minutes’ sleep also means you can’t even do basic math.
I got through the day, but I didn’t learn anything. Information sploshed off me and nothing soaked in. It felt like I was walking round with a mini tornado on my head that turned just in the middle of my eyes. It’s difficult to think about osmosis and the Civil War when there’s a major weather condition doing its thing on your face.
Mum and I are in the car on the way to meet the agent and she keeps asking me if I’m okay. I tell her I am, but I am not. The truth is I’m very, very worried about meeting the agent. I can tell this for the following reasons:
1. In addition to the tornado, a hurricane, a cyclone, and a drought are now happening all over my forehead and chin. My cheeks are also on fire. Blotchy red is not a good look. The government has declared my face a disaster zone and the army is currently evacuating the area.
2. My body is in a knot. I had a necklace once that had a knot in it that was impossible to undo. I threw it out of my bedroom window in a temper. My body definitely feels like cheap jewelry you should defenestrate.
3. Defenestrate is the best word ever. Granddad threatens everyone with it. It means to throw something out of a window.
4. My granddad would never really defenestrate anyone, by the way. His hips and knees are too weak. He’d need the help of a winch.
5. I am worried about the earth leaving its orbit and heading nearer or farther away from the sun. Which would I choose? Boil or freeze to death? Probably freeze.
6. Forget freezing to death. No one looks good in a heavily quilted jacket.
7. I’ve eaten two bars of chocolate and a brie and red onion relish baguette. It’s pure stress hunger. I HATE red onion relish. Why do they always let brie suffer? Brie is the queen of cheese. She should be able to sit on her throne alone without stinky bits of root vegetables.
It hits me.
I’m just about to meet someone and have catastrophically bad onion breath. The sort of breath that stops traffic and the police are called and they put DO NOT CROSS tape across your face. Nice one, Millie. I check it with Mum. She grimaces, turns her head to the side, and gives me a squirt of breath freshener. I close my eyes and try to focus. A bit of mindfulness. Think about the nice things in life—music, coconut ice cream, the smile of a Danny, Dave when she spots a can of tuna and tries to open the can with her paws and then, when that fails, her tongue.
All this is interrupted by seven of the most frightening words in the history of mankind.
“Can we have a chat now, Millie?”
Here’s a warning: Parents are slightly evil. I mean, they can be snakelike with their cunning. Mum has hidden behind the wheel in a tight coil and is now bursting out with fangs to interrogate me. I’m cornered. I can’t get off. We are in something that is going 80 mph and has childproof locked doors. Mum even controls the volume to the radio. I’ve witnessed some songs by a group called the Backstreet Boys that no one should have to hear. This car can be like a prison cell. A prison cell with really bad tunes about everybody rocking their body in the correct way.
Mum takes a big breath. “I know you’re getting your head around everything that is going on. I saw your last vlog. Whatever happens in this meeting, just see all this as … froth on your coffee.”
Froth on my coffee. I’m about to have one of the most important meetings ever and Mum is saying it’s like the top of a hot drink. Mum has explained to me that she has a brain like mine! She, of ALL people, should understand that keeping calm when the stakes are THIS high is IMPOSSIBLE. I can feel my face collapsing. I do not have a poker face, as Aunty Teresa calls it. I wear my emotions like a very loud shirt.
Mum can see I look confused and tries to explain.
“I mean, this is just a wonderful experience. It’s not the REALLY important stuff of life. It’s just fun. FUN! F. U. N. Something to enjoy and have a laugh with Lauren about!”
I’ve noticed that when someone says something is going to be fun, it’s not. If it really is going to be fun, you don’t need to label it.
This is when I have to tell Mum I feel a lot differently about it. All this is very important to me because I want everything I do to go viral. I like to get things RIGHT and a lot of people see my posts. Probably everyone. And they’ll all have an opinion on it and feedback and comments and trolls. Basically, trolls doing their trolling thing.
Mum stares at me. “Work out who matters and concentrate on the facts. Something else, too, Millie. Don’t sweat the small stuff.”
Mum says this with a wink.
Don’t sweat the small stuff. That phrase was never designed for me. I sweat all sizes of stuff. I do not discriminate. If it’s big, I worry, and if it’s tiny, I worry. Mum says I run an equal-opportunity kind of anxiety. She’s right.