These last two days have been cold. Cold in a way that scares me. I have bought a big, warm down coat thinking it was a bit of overkill, but already I know it is too short (ending a few inches above the knee) because walking home today, the wind cut right through my shins. And apparently it gets colder…
But there is something nice about this cold too. It makes people stand close to each other. It makes me feel really awake in the morning. It makes being in bed one of the most wonderful things in the world. It also makes it really hard to get up and get onto the beautiful treadmill (we must become best friends!).
I feel as though I have conquered the cold inside my down coat which is rather like wearing my bed. And even though I do look like the Michelin Man, I have bested the cold and can be out in it despite its desperate attempts to get me inside. But, again, I must remember that it has just begun.
The arrival of my shipment could not have come at a better time. With my new soft furnishings and accoutrements of living, I am feeling at home and warm and cosy; feelings I can get right into.
I am struggling at the moment to think in time frames of beyond eighteen months. I want to be here for a while – 5 or 6 years – but that is purely intellectual. My entire system is geared for moving on. That is purely emotional. Somewhere these two sections of my thinking have to meet up and be at ease with each other. I need to consider the fact that I will be here for more than one winter. It seems unreasonable and impossible. But I desire some stability.
People say that teachers on the international circuit are running away from something. I don’t think I am running away from anything, except perhaps the mundane – which I also crave at times – I think moving on is in my blood. My grandmother was a gypsy. Does that feeling of restlessness run in the blood? Am I just romanticising my lack of commitment?
Nothing like a little Tuesday night angst.