Life is good
I met another Commodore yesterday. A white one, owned by one very charming elderly Frenchman. I want it. I almost wept when he handed me the keys - exactly the same shape and everything. And it goes, like any good Commodore should. M and I are going back today to double check.
Then I swung by the Herdsman for a head of Savoy cabbage and went home. I felt totally drained. I was crushed when I realised that the screwdriver was missing from the little toolkit, meaning I couldn't dissemble the desk in the study, meaning that full perfection would elude me. The stains on the carpet (what talent is required to destroy something so completely, in such little time?) are not budging, the lino in the kitchen is a nightmare... and I was so tired I kept crying. So I settled for putting all my clothes away, and making the meatballs, but the savoy cabbage remained untouched once more.
I had a fitful sleep, I awoke at 4 to some serious thumping and scratching in the roof (rats? amorous possums?) but slept again until 5 and when I got up, all clouds had lifted and i was full of energy and smiles.
I washed the windows and cleaned the last piss stains from the toilet door, I eradicated the last maggots hiding under the lining of the sink in the kitchen, I removed the dead bird from the chair outside the apartment and I put the new linen on the bed. It all looks seriously good. And clean.
I am almost 100% back to how I should be. Squealing with excitement at the colour of the morning light - this morning I took photos of the light on the bricks - and being unable to keep the smile off my face.
I purged a lot of anger with the Dyson and the scrubbing last night, but allowed myself one tiny vindictive victory with the Domestos.
From Winton: an explanation of why (for me) living here will always 'be enough', make me happy, hopefully keep me grounded.
"There is no one else around. I flinch at the sound of a school of whitebait cracking the surface a few metres away. It's alive out there. After the still, exhausted Aegean, where nothing moves but the plastic bags, it seems like a miracle. Call it jet lag, cabin fever, but I am almost in tears. There is nowhere else I'd rather be, nothing else I would prefer to be doing. I am at the beach looking west with the continent behind me as the sun tracks down to the sea. I have my bearings."
Then I swung by the Herdsman for a head of Savoy cabbage and went home. I felt totally drained. I was crushed when I realised that the screwdriver was missing from the little toolkit, meaning I couldn't dissemble the desk in the study, meaning that full perfection would elude me. The stains on the carpet (what talent is required to destroy something so completely, in such little time?) are not budging, the lino in the kitchen is a nightmare... and I was so tired I kept crying. So I settled for putting all my clothes away, and making the meatballs, but the savoy cabbage remained untouched once more.
I had a fitful sleep, I awoke at 4 to some serious thumping and scratching in the roof (rats? amorous possums?) but slept again until 5 and when I got up, all clouds had lifted and i was full of energy and smiles.
I washed the windows and cleaned the last piss stains from the toilet door, I eradicated the last maggots hiding under the lining of the sink in the kitchen, I removed the dead bird from the chair outside the apartment and I put the new linen on the bed. It all looks seriously good. And clean.
I am almost 100% back to how I should be. Squealing with excitement at the colour of the morning light - this morning I took photos of the light on the bricks - and being unable to keep the smile off my face.
I purged a lot of anger with the Dyson and the scrubbing last night, but allowed myself one tiny vindictive victory with the Domestos.
From Winton: an explanation of why (for me) living here will always 'be enough', make me happy, hopefully keep me grounded.
"There is no one else around. I flinch at the sound of a school of whitebait cracking the surface a few metres away. It's alive out there. After the still, exhausted Aegean, where nothing moves but the plastic bags, it seems like a miracle. Call it jet lag, cabin fever, but I am almost in tears. There is nowhere else I'd rather be, nothing else I would prefer to be doing. I am at the beach looking west with the continent behind me as the sun tracks down to the sea. I have my bearings."
posted by BanAnna at 2/04/2010 04:32:00 pm
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