Skip to main content

Sunday Night Ramblings

   Tired in the living room 

    It's a quiet Sunday night and I have been home for reading week since mid-afternoon on Friday. As the cycles of life turn and swirl around me, I find myself in the same position as fall reading week. It's as if the months in between have never happened to me. I'm in the living room, mind running but not enough to open readings, just enough to stare at this blank page in slight wonder and panic. In this cycle of today's life, I have reverted years back. I feel 13 years old as Divergent plays on the tv and my dad asked if I wanted scrambled eggs for breakfast this morning. I never like just scrambled eggs at school, but there is something so comforting in the familiarity of being offered them on a weekend morning by my dad. I eat them beside the lemon bowl on the counter that is always full. 

    I went to visit my grandma today and she showed me how to sew on a hook to a new shirt. In her house, I find comfort in the way that the front door always sticks open and there is a certain clean smell that is seeped into the walls. I like the way that the white tile floors feel cold on my feet and that grandma will usually have a few, fresh health-nut muffins on the counter (and today I was excitedly correct). The cup of green tea burnt my tongue a little, which scared me into letting it turn cold as the conversation carried from the kitchen table to the living room. 

    I have grown to know that I will always feel a little tired in the living room. It's as if my body knows that after every Christmas dinner, we find ourselves on that couch and pauses in conversations grow with yawns and there it's a battle to fight the sleep in my bones to stand up. The drive back home is always dark and those nights are the only time I can fall asleep in the car. Today, the drive back was bright and I put too much confidence into my google maps, resulting in a few phone calls to my dad and me gripping the wheel on the 401 for half an hour. 

    As I made the drive home, I tried to not let conversations run through my mind. As routines and years of my life have allowed me to come to this particular moment, I've learned to fret less. But, the way my grandma asked how I was feeling about not coming back home in the summer pushed the hamster to run a little faster. Someone was painting swirls in my mind over and over and over and over. 

    My journal pages are filled with these ideas. So, they will age there and not on this page. 

    Then, the cycle changes again. It's when I find myself missing things about my other home. It's when I find myself missing one of my favourite parts of my walk to and from campus. The row of houses with beautiful stained glass reminds me of icy breaths and winter layers. It's missing having friends in my room and dissecting our day piece by piece. It's weekend walks to coffee through the park with roommates. It's recognizing that I didn't think this would happen and I'm lucky for it. 

*

    For some reason, I was suddenly experiencing a classic Sunday night tonight. I know you know what I'm talking about. My Sunday night is like the end of August and I feel the weight of the next few months sitting on my chest. I think it feels a little bit heavier tonight because I haven't felt this way in so long. I've been basking in the light at the end of the tunnel and it's lovely. But, I also feel the most creative with writing this to you when I'm actually in the tunnel. I've tried to tap into that mindset and write here, but the night always ends in deleted words or turns to dust in the long line of drafts. Proof of cycles!

*

    The movie has long since turned off and bursts of energy have been spent doing the dishes and slowly getting ready for bed. I've decided to not read this over, otherwise it will cease to exist. I will not think about other people reading this as I like to think that this transaction never happens. I find comfort in thinking you didn't actually get this far and maybe the first sentence of the second paragraph made you tired. I've found myself second thinking of all of my words that live here because sometimes, people do make it this far. 

*
  
    Goodnight, from my Sunday Night Ramblings 

Lemons (proof of the truth)


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Letting the Light In ✩

Pieces of pure happiness     There has always been something so comforting about the end of school to me. I remember the excitement that I would feel in elementary school when getting off the bus after the last day of school. I'd be so giddy with energy. At the time, the summer months were filled with going to camps, spending more time with my parents and going to the beach. On the dry afternoons, my brother and I would run barefoot in our bathing suits to my neighbours house. We would cut through the hole in the fence and dive right into the pool. At my grandma's cottage, my dad would make a fire and my grandma would bring out ingredients to make s'mores. The hot months were inherently made to connect with your loved ones and your surroundings.      I still miss getting off the bus at home after the last day of school. I miss running to see my mom and her giving me a big hug. When I finished school this year, I wish I could've done that. Instead, I finishe...
Post a Comment
Read more

The beauty of being far

Side effects of being homesick may include rambling writings      When it's been a little while since I've last been home, I see my friends and family in the little things that surround me. Right now, I'm thinking of my mom as I listen to Bruce Springsteen in my headphones while I sit in my bed. I think of my grandma as the lamp that lights up my room is from her cottage. I miss my friends while I gaze at the little drawings they drew and photos of us that are taped on the wall beside my bed. I think of my dad whenever I put on a record that sits on the record stand he gave me.      Whenever I have new friends over who have yet to see my room, I'm so proud of everything that makes it up. I feel as though my room is a book and I'm the storyteller. If you haven't heard it yet, my script usually sounds like "The vanity was free on the side of the road! I took it home and fixed it up," "I also found my bedside table on the road for free and my dad mad...
Post a Comment
Read more

Birthday Reflections

 August, die she must      My birthday was a few Thursdays ago. In the late afternoon, Abby Ferg sent Madi and I a text about a magical encounter she had while at work at the museum in Fergus. She was outside and an older lady from the retirement home was being biked around by an individual and they stopped to chat with her. Abby said that although it was clear that the elderly woman was forgetful, it did not stop her from sharing about her life. She told Abby that in her career, the men that she supervised would tell her how young she was, even though she was old. She said something along the lines of "Everything changes and sometimes you take a turn and it's the end but you need it to... for something new, to go onto the next. You know what? Everything changes and nothing changes. I'm old but I'm young. Do you understand?"      I'd like to think that when I'm her age, I will feel that at peace with myself, with my life.      Like many...
Post a Comment
Read more