I’m back home, with the distinct feeling that summer’s over. I quite desperately need to have a very productive day today, preparing for the new term,
doing all the things I’ve been ignoring for the past six weeks (second load of washing already in the machine, nametapes located, pile of urgent paperwork looming ominously…)
It’s been a strange selfish solitary summer. I’ve run wild, laid down a stock of memories,and ever-so-slightly neglected my children. I’ve thrived and grown, but I don’t know if it’s sustainable. Now it’s back to the real world. Tomorrow, it’s back to work; on Wednesday, school starts. I’m racking my brains to remember how that responsible-member-of-the-community act goes.
I’m glad I followed that impulse and went back to Tiree. The holiday had elements of both the sublime and the grotesque. I shall try to focus on the sublime, as a wise friend said.
There’s nothing to make you feel trapped like a week on an island with someone you don’t want to be sharing your life with any longer. I had some black moods that I really struggled to snap out of, isolated from the safety valve support of friends, yet lacking the solitude I craved.
There have been so many things over the last couple of weeks where I’ve said to myself: I must remember to blog about that. I even wrote some of it down, in my shiny notebook, thinking it could be transferred to the blog later. I’m not sure I’ll ever do it, because so much of blogging is about the immediacy. If I leave a gap, I think about it too much, and I’m no longer sure it’s worth saying.