The Endless Month

March has felt never-ending. But with only an hour left of it I can probably say I survived!

I signed my termination papers at the end of February,  which meant that I had to keep working one month more. A month during which my feet ached of all the packing in preparation for the move, helping a friend pack and clean their old apartment before a move, and then my move itself. My mind buzzed of a to-do list which at some point reminded me elaborately of the end credits of this phase of my life.

In the beginning of the month I kept up my writing habit very well, but towards the end it’s vaned, mostly because of technical difficulties. My computer stopped working, that is. And although I could have continued by hand, I’ve been mostly either too exhausted or too lazy to do it.

I think a break has done me some good, because I keep waking in the middle of the night with ideas and sentences and the characters speak to me all the time. Tomorrow arrives my new computer and I have high hopes of starting to make sense of the random notes I’ve scribbled down.

During the long weekend for Easter I also read and enjoyed a very wonderful book. It’s in Finnish and only translated to Swedish thus far, but I hope it will be translated to English as well so that I could make my online friends read it. It was about a Finnish woman who travels to Japan to find Sei Shõnagon, the 10th Century Japanese courtier and author of The Pillow Book. I felt like I was on  the journey with the author. It was a nice escape from all the hectic events of my own life. I also desperately needed to slow down. It’s not healthy for a mind to be on  overdrive for too long.

Today I returned to my roots. I went to sit in my favourite café in this town. A café where I’ve sat countless times during my high school and University years, alone, with friends, writing, talking, thinking. The owner of the café greeted me enthusiastically.  She still remembered what kind of tea I like and how I take it. As the lunch crowd thinned, the other regulars dropped in, one by one. I’ve only ever talked with a few, but we glance at each other and turn back to smile at our tea or coffee cups. And each of us knows the smile is one of recognition and greeting, and also of letting the other enjoy their privacy.


The café isn’t even the best in town, the tea is only passable,  because they put the tealeaves loose in the pot and the last cup is always eye-wateringly strong. But it’s at the edge of the town market place with loads of people to stare at, and when I started going there, it was practically the only café in town (that was… umm… 15 years ago 😮). Most of my diary entries from high school and Uni start with: “I’m sitting at Café de Paris…”

So sitting there today, after dealing  with the last arrangements for tax things for the old job, I felt like I had returned home. I felt like I could slow down. The endless month is behind me (now only 43 minutes left) and I feel like I’m at a place where I’m supposed to be.

The future looks like a bright mist or a twisty road upward. I’m going to mentally sit in the café for a while and gather my strength until I step out on the road and let my rested feet carry me on.


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