I’ve set myself the task of writing a journal entry every day this week – the idea being that it forces me to actually write and also that it is a little window for you into my everyday thoughts and observations, be them good, or a little glum and sometimes quite weird. Just human really…
Monday 27th February 2017
My alarm goes off at 5am and I consider snoozing. I was having a lovely reoccurring dream where I’m at a party. It’s the sort of party you always imagine going to, but seems to only exist in some alternate reality, or New York. One in a small apartment with low light that makes it feel as though it is packed full with bodies – so close you have to slide up against people to get down the hall to the bathroom. And for some reason it is always smoky and there is champagne in old-fashioned glasses. Or if I am particularly hipster that week, expensive champagne in mason jars. It’s one of those gatherings where small talk doesn’t exist and you end up having more honest and vulnerable conversations with drunk strangers than you could have with your own family.
I decide not to hit snooze. I’ll just end up allowing myself 15 minutes to leave the house and stressing. Looking a little scruffy and pale (what is it about early morning starts that drain your face), I head off to Christchurch airport to fly back to Auckland. I’ve been home for the weekend visiting family and it feels like a mini-break.
Whilst in line for the airport x-ray, I admire the outfit of the girl in front of me. She is wearing a pair of casual floaty black ¾ pants, white Chuck Taylors and a pale blue linen cami with her leather jacket slung around her shoulders. She is accessorised with an equally stylish boyfriend who is carrying her bag for her. I wish that I gave that much of a f**k at 5.30am. But sleep trumps vanity.
On the plane, the sun is just coming up over the clouds and it looks like a slice of blood red orange – so bright, I shade my eyes to watch it rise. One steward is talking to the other about how he needs extra training because he has failed a test. I don’t find this comforting, but I also feel sorry for him when he says he is mad at himself. It’s never fun to feel as though you are out of your depth –I have felt that a time or two in my life.
I love going to Christchurch these days. The pace is slower and I feel like I can think and breathe and relax there. Whenever I go back I am struck with the knowledge that we often spend years at home fantasising about being somewhere else, only to realise later down the line that where we were was actually perfectly lovely.
Much love x