Today* I am heart sore. I do not know why. It is day ten of our holiday and I am missing my home. The weather has not helped. I sit snuggled under a duvet, wrapped in my warmest clothes while grey skies barely permit a watery glimmer to light the room. I could do this at home, I think.
But of course I could not. At home I would be busy with the bustle of everyday life. There would be Things To Do, Places to Go and People to See. Here I have the Captain and luxury of the Olympics entertaining the teenagers. That would be on the tele at home too but I would not want the teens to spend all day watching it. Here, holiday rules apply.
This melancholy sits on me at this point in every holiday. As a child my mother used to say that a ten day holiday was enough for me. Two weeks was always too long. I do not think that has changed. It is not very twenty-first-century-modern-dynamic-woman but I think I must in essence be a home body.
My brooding will not last. I will shrug it off soon and my family are unlikely to notice it. If they do they will not pay it much attention. By the day’s end I will be feeling better. By tomorrow I will be back to sparky and chirpy. Probably. Because by then the countdown to returning will have begun. By day fourteen I will be wishing we could extend our break by another week or so. I am nothing if not inconsistent.
Frailty, thy name is Belle.
* Again, not so much 'today' ... more of 'about a week ago'
Wednesday, 27 August 2008
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7 comments:
Perhaps all of us suffer from a bit of homesickness when we are away. Or maybe our minds drift to that place where we query our lives because of the immense change we are experiencing. That in turn might lead to the depression - why not...humans are never happy with what they have.
I know this is past - but still - hugs.
I've never been half so long as you have, but I know that feeling well. Home matters a great deal, and I don't think that's a frailty. I think that's a strength.
The best thing about when we head off to Kerry en famille, is the return journey. Back to a small, overstretched, busting at the seams house that we call home.
Aah, "Be it ever so humble..." But what are you doing in France when you could be back up in Seahouses, eating fish & chips as you sit on a bench seat overlooking the harbour, and observing the sea fret drifting in - again.
Two weeks is too long, my friend. A week is too short. Ten days is perfect.
I always go into a bad mood by the first Wednesday and my husband and I usually have a row. I think it's something to do with the fact that we don't usually spend that much time together and by Wednesday we are getting on each other's nerves, even in a gorgeous holiday place. By Thursday everything's alright again though.
I also get fed up with eating out, which sounds stupid I know, but don't you just yearn for beans on toast sometimes. Or a curry? I certainly do.
I am so like that too Belle. 10 days is good, 14 too much. Glad you found you happy again though sweetie. And look at that ticker go, you are doing fabulous sweetie, I can't wait to see you. :D
no i could go forever. coming home means laundry, cooking, all the stuff i hate. my dream is to one day go on holiday ...
forever....
mu hu ha ha h ah aha ha!!!
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