Fear and formal feelings

This isn't my favourite poem by Emily Dickinson but the first line is resonating with me quite strongly today!

After great pain a formal feeling comes--
The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;
The stiff Heart questions--
was it He that bore?
And yesterday--
or centuries before?

The feet, mechanical, go round
A wooden way
Of ground, or air, or ought,
Regardless grown,
A quartz contentment, like a stone.

This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow--
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.

I've been unable to eat or keep much down since Saturday. And now I'm calm in my exhaustion. Ric's had it too. We seem to have a knack for getting stomach bugs on our holidays having been laid up over New Year too!

It's my busiest time at work and I've been working like a demon to get stuff sorted out before the next poor girl takes on the role. Still, I'm bored. Ric's bored. Busy but bored. Not of each other I think (I hope!) although this would only be natural since both of us are part of each other's present circumstances. My feelings are laced with fear too. Everything I do right now in the lead up to leaving London feels finite and vital. I'm wrapping up loose ends and making vague plans for the unexpected. I am even more aware than usual of the mortal condition of everyone including myself. I wake up worrying about things I can't do anything about and haven't even encountered yet!

I think that implies I'm as ready as I'll ever be to go.