Dog-days have been post-poned indefinitely

   The past month has not been so bad, somehow I managed to find some equilibrium in doing my official duties and over-looking the ones that I did in fact want to attend to. And then a sudden fight, it always surprised me when I get into a fight, I am much more accustomed to avoiding one, to staying silent and working around it. fighting shakes me, especially when I am thrown into the wrong without being certain what it was exactly that I have done wrong. 

  For two days I allowed myself to stay in bed and read and actually listen to music, as opposed to having just something to fill up the silence. And it was the oddest feeling, for I shut myself in the room and allowed for nothing else to exist other than my bewilderment and my anxiety and in a way my grief. And that was the most relaxed I have felt in a long, long time. Not that I do not still have a clock ticking time away at the back of my head. But that was the closest I have come in a long time to just being, in the moment, with nothing else to distract me from myself. 

  Some people think me crazy for wanting to resign and to leave this place but I do not see much of a way around it - there's hardly anything to keep me here except for money and even that money can not buy me the quiet that I crave. In some ways I have watched myself grow, I have in fact accumulated a small amount to buy myself at least a modicum of freedom for a short-while. I know more hard work will have to come but hopefully it will be hard work that I do not whole-heartedly detest. Perhaps I will like it so much that I will feel less guilty for not resting, or for having forgotten how to rest without feeling guilty.

  In the balcony the few plants we have have bloomed and I envy their certainty and repetition, the ability to bloom and hibernate and then with certainty bloom again. Dog-days are over but at least I can say that now I can rise much faster than I did in the past. My legs wobble at every step of the way.

  In my last post the last paragraph accidentally got deleted and it made me sad cause I remember I had felt very much in tune with it.

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   In truth I write still. Every morning, on the kitchen table, once I ensure that I am alone in the house. It turns out that this temporary immigration did suit me in the least but I have been making the most of it, or at least the most that I think I can make of it. After months of heavy rain the clouds have blissfully parted and I can feel the sun on my skin. Around me it really looks like spring, the incessant fall of rain encouraged the local flora to grow at a maddening pace. I imagine that by the middle of the summer it will have all dried up and resolved it self into the muted yellow colour that I encountered when I moved here. It should be alright.

  All this time I have been waiting for the nearing of the end, the time where this self-imposed exile will finish. I even set a reminder on my phone for it, in case I grew too accustomed, too complacent. I did it in the first few weeks when there was hardly any privacy for one to cry. This house still does not feel like my private space but at the very least there are hours in which all is good. I am alone. And now the deadline is drawing closer, just a few more months and I look at it with some confusion. For I am still unsure what I will do after I leave and everyone has questions and I have questions too but I would like to feel that just this once it ok to not have answers, to not have a plan that I felt was so necessary all my life.

  It dawned on me that I have forgotten how to be idle. There is always a clock somewhere, or a screen, something to which my mind inevitably gets glued to. And so time passes, and I stuck watching, waiting, for who, for what I know not. But all this immobility has made a bit more aware and awareness brings stillness and it doesn't feel the same as being un-moving. 

  There is no plan, just a vague sense that something might follow or nothing might follow. I would like to stay idle for some time, after I leave. And I think I would like to go to the countryside for some time. It will be nice if I get to go to the countryside with him, but I am also considering just going down to the village of my childhood, in the little hut with the toilet separate from the house but with good proximity to the sea. In the summer the sun is unbearable and the food is quick simple and meant to be refreshing and there's little to do after the luncheon apart from taking a nap and reading, perhaps even studying a bit. 

  Last time we went we used to leave the door open, I have similar memories from a past that has long since turned into dust. The people of the place has died and with them part of the identity of the place as well.

  I find it odd that I long for those moments of stillness, for the absence of most things of my daily life, while at the same time I enjoy languorous pleasures, I aspire to certain power, certain independence. I have often been teased of being equally a person of the port and the salon as well. I want to be alone and also to my solitude. 

  I have become aware that contradicting character traits are not a bad thing.

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