Once again, I have been on the verge of forgetting this little corner I like to scribble in. The last few months have been difficult – after whining for years about things that have been wrong with my life, I am trying to set them right…and it is taking some doing.
Do you live alone? Do you have days in which you hide under your blanket almost all day drinking cup after cup of Earl Grey until there are teacups over every clear surface in your room? Does your room look like a hurricane hit it a century ago and no one has been inside ever since? These are just the small things…things that have been growing around me without my noticing them. It is strange how you can move past them so easily. One morning, you think that mushroom soup and a cosy blanket might be a better idea than a class on regional trade agreements, and the same evening you hear a song – a song that you have heard many, many times before but seen only this particular time that it smells of the rain. And suddenly the stale air of a little room suspended eleven storeys above a cold busy street in london blazes with the memory of an Indian thunderstorm, and you wake up. The teacups go back to the kitchen, the scattered papers sort themselves out and suddenly you remember where you were going before you went to sleep.
I am back. I hope that I will stick around for bit. And if I don’t, I ask that you cross your fingers for me and hope that instead of diving back under a blanket…I am sorting out my room, my notes, my books and my life.
