I am sure I am not the only one struggling this morning to boot my brain into action. It wasn’t too long ago that I made a flippant comment that weekends should be longer than two days. If there was ever a time that I needed a holiday, it is now, a prolonged time of being away from work and the world to just rest and recover. Alas that is not in the cards for now, and I take whatever I can get to unwind and recharge.
This weekend I felt the weariness not only in my bones but also my heart and soul. As I lay in bed listening to the noisy passing of the train and the person in the flat above create some unfathomably obnoxious noise, I found myself repeating the phrase Just a few more days. just a few more days over and over. Saturdays are for laundry, groceries, brunches, and sleeping in late (which in my case means until 07:00 instead of the usual 04:30) but still beating eveyone else to the washing machine. I managed to get throught the usual chores, and then proceeded to pack my bags, and clearing out the cabinet. I don’t have much, and I probably could have left it for the night before departure, but there is something therapeutic about sorting out your things and discarding what you no longer need for the next stage.
Once the Saturday chores are over and done with, it usually leaves me with an completely empty Sunday, during which I luxuriate in cooking a big breakfast. Much to my horror yesterday morning, the kitchen was already occupied by someone else who seemed to be in the throes of preparing a very elaborate breakfast for two (or was it more?), and was mid preparation. So it was with a heavy heart that I returned to my room to sulk over a bowl of granola and yoghurt instead of the omelette and grilled cheese sandwhich that I had planned on (if this sounds like a strange combination for some of you, I am using up all my food items in the fridge). Thwarted, derailed, disappointed, and pissed off, I stared into empty space morosely and missed my daughter and cat. I couldn’t even enjoy a cup of coffee either bacause the kitchen invader had taken over the French press and kettle as well. The coffee machine that operates on capsules is busted, so that was out of the question. Ugh.
Nevertheless, I woke up this morning with the realisation that I have a very short work week ahead of me, as I have taken a couple of days off for the move. The countdown to moving day as of this writing is three days! And I can’t even begin to describe my excitement! The images of the day are anything but new but I like digging into my archives for photographs that reflect my state of mind. The first and third image are not new, but fit my mood today.
After The Storm: The sunshine is finally filtering through, and the warmth that I feel is emanating from within. Yes, massive change awaits me once again, but this time it is not a plunge into the unknow, but a homecoming of sorts.
Reluctance: In spite of my whining about the flat sharing situation, I am reluctant to leave Vila Franca and the river. It was home for five months, and the healing that took place there has prepared me for the road ahead. You have all been witnesses to the re-emergence of colour and laughter, but the time has come to let go and sail away. I can’t really tell you whether I found what I was looking for in the little village, but one thing is for sure, what I found was so much better: myself.
Closure: Doors, like bridges, are symbols of passage and transition. When you cross them, people and places are inevitably left behind. But in order to move forward, you have to take that decisive step.