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2nd-Sep-2007 01:21 pm

Yesterday I burned down my flat.

...oh not actually. Just in my head a thousand times over.

In a much belated celebration of avariel_wings birthday, I met up with that lady, along with rowanberries, bethan_b_bad, requiem2adream and malachan for lunch at the Shakespeare, followed by the matinee performance of Wicked (The Avariel rents paid for my ticket, so it's OK!), after which the plan was to head over to the Innerrents, for the party of celebrating Die Schwester having a zero at the end of her age, staying at the 'rents overnight and returnign to the kitty this morning.

ecause it's a weekend, none of the tubes were working, so I believe I was about halfway to Turnpike Lane on a roundabout type bus route, when I started to wonder if I'd remembered to turn the hob off after cooking my brunch. Then I wondered a little more.Then I worried. The very act of turning the hob off is such an automatic one that one doesn't store memories of having done it on any one day. But I couldn't very well turn around - because that would require getting another bus back and there, and I'd never catch up with the others.

By the time I was half way down the tube, the kitchen had burned down, and I was staving off a panic attack. After using reason to calm myself down, I stuck musicals on iGor to sing along to and tried to put it out of my mind. I had a very good lunch with the folken, and we talked game, and I regaled the story of my anxiety to them.And they all  said "oh, IB," in the tone of voice usually reserved for "oh, Will" and they assured me it was impossible for me to burn down the flat and kill the cat by leaving an electric hob on. So that's OK then.

The show was excellent- I've mentioned it before; one of the best musicals in the West End right now, by all accounts - but near the end of the first act I was in tears about having left the hob on and convinced that I should just go home and turn it off and miss the second act. Then I could go over to the 'rents safely.

That was of course crazy thinking. Avarielmum had paid for this ticket, malachan gave up his seat (his fault!) for me. I was being crazy. So I stayed on and planned to phone the 'rents after the show and arrange to meet them at the flat instead, so I wouldn't  lose two and a half hours in going up to the flat and back through central Nodnol again.

This, also, is crazy. So I didn't do that either. I swallowed the rising misery went back as scheduled and relayed the account to the 'rents. There was a similar "Oh, IB," combined with genuine concern over my growing anxiety problems (stress related, natch). But by the time I got to Die Schwester's, I was all better and there was grey goose and 'spensive whiskeys and it was nice :-)

And today, when I got back to the flat, was the hob in fact on?

Of course it bloody well wasn't.

2nd-Sep-2007 12:22 pm (UTC)
Oh, man. I do that, but to a way lesser extent. I mean, sometimes I'll make Ben turn the car around and drive back if we're within a minute or two, but if we're half an hour away in Manhattan or some such, I'll just ask him to convince me that I haven't [done X horrible thing that I'm sure I've done] until it sinks in. But usually stuff like a show would be plenty enough to distract me.

Statistically speaking, the odds of you burning your flat down and worrying about it are like, none. People who burn their houses down either do it on purpose or genuinely have NO IDEA. I've never once heard a news report of someone who went "Oh, shit, I knew I left the gas/oven/iron on!" and came home to find their house blown up/burnt down/whatever.
2nd-Sep-2007 12:41 pm (UTC)
I think burning the house down because I left the hob on overnight will be my most probable cause of death. Always doing it.

Personally, though, it's always that I've not shut and/or locked the door that worries me throughout the day. Many a time I've turned around halfway down the road just to check, only of course to find out I had done it after all.
2nd-Sep-2007 01:04 pm (UTC)
First time I drove to the airport from my own flat in Torquay (as opposed to with friends from the shared house in Exeter), when we got stuck on the M25 I asked one of the guys in the back to pass me one of the sausage rolls I'd cooked myself that morning (because getting veggie snack on the road is pretty much impossible).

They couldn't find them in the box. I hadn't taken them out of the oven. I rang the lady in the flat upstairs who had my spare key, she went in, turned the oven off, and binned the now charcoal sausage rolls.

Drove all my housemates to a games event. All except one, the Ukrainian MA student whose English was not good. We got a phone call half way to Birmingham—she'd come home to find the door wide open—each of us had thought another was still in the house when leaving. Oops.

At least these days I can't lock myself out of the flat without keys to get in or get into the car, I don't use the car anymore...
2nd-Sep-2007 01:46 pm (UTC)
*Pats gently*
2nd-Sep-2007 04:12 pm (UTC) - May I join your crazy club?
Pretty much anytime I'm away from home and hear a fire truck, I start thinking that I somehow managed to burn down my house. And yet I still won't get renter's insurance.
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