Crisis over.

Crisis. Even when it doesn’t eventuate to be the drama you anticipate it might, still brings it’s own brand of crazy. Long lists of people, even longer days, all working together to try and avert something, that at times, seems like it could be inevitable.

Plans are made, they’re cross checked, changed and made again. Decisions are passed around as softly as a fresh egg, no-one wanting to be the one that drops it and makes a mess. Voices are calm, giving a sense of control, but underneath it’s spinning like swan legs on the water.

With no view to how it might land, all avenues are explored. Trains of thought are not only passing through, but everyone has to jump aboard, check out all the stations and make sure the destination isn’t going to throw everything else off track.

Emotions run high, as coffee intake peaks, and everyone has to remind themselves that it isn’t personal. Some lean towards glass half full, others glass half empty. There are always those who are sure their glass never had anything in it at all. There are no stupid questions. Predictions are made and counter-predicted, but no-one really knows what will happen next.

And then you wait. Waiting for it all to explode, for the sky to come falling down.

And wait.

Sometimes it comes. The crash around your ears, the adrenaline pumps through as you follow through on the plans, that up until moments before were alive only on paper. You ride the wave and hope to god it doesn’t crush you on the way down.

Other times, you wait. Holding your breath, not daring to make a sound in case in case it’s what tips it over the edge. It trickles in, before a steady flow. Manageable. But you remain on high alert, always waiting for the dam to break, waiting for the crash, but it never comes. In some ways it’s worse, because you never know if it’s over. If you can move on, or is it still just around the corner, waiting for you to let your guard down?

But you do. Of course you do. Eventually the adrenaline runs out and sleep takes over. Driving home and realising you haven’t been outside in daylight in more time than is probably healthy. You try not to think about how much coffee you’ve consumed over the past few days. You stop and pick up some vitamins as a token effort to make up for the lack of fruit and vegetables.

Proud of the team, proud of the way you’ve worked together, and how much you’ve learned. The all encompassing crash didn’t come this time, but next time, you know you’ll be ready. And there will be a next time. There always is.

Life resumes. You breath out. Dinner, bed, bath and tonight, yes, mummy will be there for story time. I promise.

Crisis over.