Moving rage

The move was today and I almost punched my neighbour! Literally.
He wanted to park his car in the garage and couldn't wait 10 minutes while we finished taking all our stuff into the van. That's all it was but I totally lost it.

Spanish people normally behave in a way that'd be consider extremely rude either in Argentina or (even worst) in the UK. I was under pressure and he went a step too far in my scale and I did throw a punch at him but managed to stop it at the last second.

He was shocked. I was even more shockeder, I know I'm mad, I just didn't know I'm that mad.
Of course, I apologised immediately and he saw that I was shaking as the proverbial leaf and way out of any normal behaviour in any culture and graciously accepted my apologies.

So I went upstairs, have a good cry and listened to my relaxation tape on the MP3 player. I had to listen two of them until I was fit to go and help the guys unload the van at the new flat. (God bless Paul Mckenna, his hypnotic relaxation tape really works although, thinking about it, I should have listened to it before the move).

Apart from that, the move went really smoothly.
The guy-with-a-van and his helper were really nice, quick and careful, although I don't rule out the possibility that they were truly terrified of me and didn't want to risk upsetting me after they saw me "in action".

Almost all we have is there in the flat and now we have some weeks to fix the flat and unpack. There's loads to do but at least tonight we're sleeping comfortably in our beds and have a full kitchen and stuff. I planned to start working tomorrow morning, but I think it's all the wiser to take it easy and sleep until late.

Good nigh then. I just want to leave this day (from now on known as "my dark violent past") behind me as soon as possible. Whoever say that moving houses is up there, second only to bereavement in the stress scale, is totally right.