It was a long night, punctuated by bouts of deep and inescapable fear. I did not enjoy it and eventually rang home for solace at 2.30am. Jet lag is just such fun, that and big responsability.
I am sitting in the clothing factory, surfing their broadband, whilst waiting for a piece of clothing, due to be sent any minute to a boat for shipment to London, that is less than perfect. Two items have had to be seriously re-worked and it is a steep learning curve. It has meant that I am approaching this current experience in a much more thorough way. This is the pain of the learning curve; that no one can do it for you. Oh, how I wish they could, but truthfully I would not have it any other way. I find it stimulating and little by little I am getting good at it, I think. The worst is to be ordering more stock before I have even received or started to sell the first lot. But there is no other way. We sell more clothes than onything else and I cannot be without this stock. Months ahead of actually needing it, without knowing how busy we will be or what kind of orders we will have I must commit to numbers. This is what keeps me awake at night and lets me see how little control I have over my thinking at 2.30am.
I really wanted to bring a book on the mind with me to India but could not find it anywhere. So many opportunites to read and practice. But I am keeping up my prosperity meditation and have re-visited my supplier of Georgette Heyer novels, so all is good.
I am at a loss as to how to entertain myself in the gaps between trying on clothes samples. I still feel unwell and now tired, too, but re-visiting tourist haunts is less than stimulating. And I am trying to avoid spending large amounts of money whilst here, this time. An intersting discipline. So I will read, write and meditate. Perfect. If all goes well I will return home early. Today, the boss of the factory said we only needed one week, but previously he had said two, and with all that needs doing I cannot see that one week will work, so I have not raised my hopes. I almost feel as though I never left, that there has not been a three week stint in London, that the food it too much and the children will appear, laughing at the bedroom door. I wish it was so. It is much more fun when there is more than just me. Puskal, the hotel cook, seems to think that I will find it more interesting to eat all my meals in my room. A kind of silent control, but I am insistent that I want to be outside, in the light, and he nods and walks away to do my bidding. It is easy to see how one can become imperious here.