Clearing the draining board is a task I lament. It’s the most annoying, frustrating and laborious part of my day, despite only taking a mere 20 seconds to complete. I don’t look forward to it, I am upset when the plates are in my hands and afterwards I feel no sense of relief. Sometimes I leave it for my flatmate to do, silently praying to the Gods of washing up with my fingers, arms and toes crossed, but this request has not proven so fruitful.
Whilst removing last night’s plates from the side, I felt consumed by the monotony of every day, recalling how we’ve almost been in lockdown for a year. I’m struck by my own ambivalence to milestones, sliding through Christmas as if it was just an additional missed stop on an already growing list of failed turns.
Now the kettle is boiling and I’m distracted by the thought of 'should I have tea or a slice of lemon with honey?' I’ve had my hair in three different hairstyles for three different zoom calls. I bought a new phone case, ‘it’s sage green’ my friend notices when I call her; I’ve changed my wallpaper to a photo that reminds me of summer.
In the mundane and the quiet, clearing the draining board included, I find myself. A steady rhythm I’ve never had, or known or realised was missing. I look forward to the smallest moments, a new recipe to try, a new place to walk, a new book in the post. I’m vaguely content as I run my hand over a curl, noticing the change in length of my hair as a measure of passing time. When I complete these tasks I'm alone, sparked by a growing need for solitude and a deeper understanding of my individual capabilities.
Over the weekend I made a list of aspirations and goals, putting pen to paper in order to loosely formulate a plan for myself. (Owning a grey whippet with blue eyes is high up on the list). Before the festive season collapsed the way it did, I had already been feeling a little lost and confused. As January draws to a steady and sure close, I've severed ties with those inclinations, snipping the wires in my head providing blood flow to negative thoughts, imploring myself to pour this energy into activities and relationships which enable me to prosper. Slowly, I've begun to wrestle with the parts of me that struggle to make adult decisions, oftentimes choosing instead to spin around in circles like a penny in spiral wishing well, instead of going for what I really want.
Now, it's the tiniest things I look forward to. A croissant from the boulangerie, porridge in the morning, reading a book before bed, warm showers, an undiscovered side road, a different perspective. Those small moments propel me forward and I'm once again curious about the future rather than afraid.
I also made this playlist on Spotify
Take care of yourselves,
Until the next one,
Lauren xo
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