Monday, 21 May 2012

Move to the country!

Mondays have a reputation for being the worst day of the week. Back to work after the weekend and all. This particular Monday certainly did its best to live up to this reputation, although I'm sure Tuesday has some surprises up its sleeves. And Thursday, too.


It all started when my alarm rang at 5.30 this morning, while I was lying on the guest bed in the spare room, exiled from our bedroom yet another night, due to our neighbour thinking its OK to start doing laundry at 10.30 pm. Tossing and turning, fuming and fantasising about the scathing things I'd say to him / her (I don't know who this person is, he / she lives in the building next to ours), I couldn't go to sleep before around midnight. And the more I stressed about how few hours of sleep I had to look forward to, the more elusive sleep was and the more the aforementioned hours of sleep shrank from ”enough to get through the day” to ”enough to be able to hear the alarm ring in the morning” to ”enough to not be mistaken for a drooling, comatose junkie”.


So I was really tired when the alarm rang. Tossing and turning is pretty exhausting. I didn't know where I was, what that sound was or for that matter what day it was. I stumbled into work a bit later to find I had a minor crisis to resolve before I even had time to take off my jacket. And the day continued along the same lines. Irritation, lack of focus, apathy. Throw into the mix that the atmosphere at work has been very negative lately, and that yours truly is counting the weeks until she can leave and never look back, and you'll realise that it was a feat of mental strength to survive this particular Monday and come home without having committed a felony.


But the good news is (because I'm being all positive and trying to concentrate on the good things in life – even if I'm having trouble spotting them right now) that I have another walk in the woods to look forward to. Yesterday we strolled around the 8,5 km path in Bunketorp, Lindome, and at times we felt that we were alone in the world, with only the birds and the murmur of little streams to listen to. Bliss.

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