Image via Pinterest, original source unknown
I spent a couple of hours on Sunday with my hands in the dirt, re-potting some bulbs that my mother salvaged from my late grandmother's garden. We don't know what they are - tulips? daffodils? freesias? - so it will be a lovely surprise in winter when they (hopefully) start to bloom. Nana is all over this tiny flat of mine, the one I've been in for a year this month, that she never got to see: from the framed picture of her on her honeymoon in the '40s, the crystal she gave me that belonged to her mother, to the sweet pea seedlings I planted in my tiny courtyard a couple of weeks ago. Whenever she came to visit us, she would carry in her cane basket scones hidden underneath a tea towel and a posy of sweet peas from her garden, wrapped in aluminium foil.
It has been two years and I miss her more than ever.
I woke up before the sun this morning and then fannied about for so long, drinking tea and congratulating myself for having already ironed my clothes, that actually getting ready for work took place in approximately four and a half minutes. But I skipped out the door and off down the street towards work, ears free of the buds normally rammed in, blaring the same few songs on repeat (Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High by the Arctic Monkeys, Out of the Woods by Taylor Swift, or Wild Horses by The Rolling Stones). Instead, I enjoyed the crisp morning air, the blue sky, and the streets feeling oddly deserted (no doubt owing to the beginning of school holidays, great for me because it means I get to jaywalk across the usually busy street at my own leisure).
After reading an article online yesterday (lost amongst the myriad of articles I read yesterday, looking for answers but not knowing the question, otherwise I would link to it), I took its advice and decided even though I don't particularly like my job, I would be the best at it. It isn't hard work, and it isn't stimulating at all, but if I have to do it - and I do, I really do - I may as well earn some praise, have my ego stroked, and go down as the best receptionist / admin assistant they have had. Who cares if the reason is self-serving, as long as the result is the same.
I had a Christ-where-are-my-bloody-glasses? moment today when I completely mistook one workmate for another and had absolutely no idea I had done so until a third workmate pointed it out. Perhaps I should take heed of the reminder flyers I have been getting lately from the optometrist.
The nights are getting darker earlier and getting colder. I had turned the heater on last week for the first time this year and even though I have been wearing flannelette pyjamas to bed, I broke my own rule and switched on the electric blanket too. And slept like a baby.