Since June I’ve been living out of a suitcase, going from one city to the other all over the country. Tomorrow my nearly 6-month long vacation comes to an end. No more late mornings (ok, maybe those are still possible). But definitely no more tension-free days for me now. Come Monday and I have to begin the whole dealing with the maid (damn, I need to look for a new one!) thing, get the new house all cleaned and set up (at present it’s worse than a dump), try and see if I can make the garden resemble something green and living, get a hundred thousand things in order again, make social calls, smile at stupid people and mentally conjure images of shooting them, so on and so forth. Aaaaggghhh!!!
It’s no wonder I’m panicking (a little). In almost half a year I haven’t had to bother about anything really, except which city I’m going to next. And even before that, it had taken me 6 months to get used to the idea of keeping house and being all responsible and all that. I had just about set some kind of a routine when the Fellow took off for that course of his. Now, when we finally go back home, I’m going to have to relearn everything and get into the practice of doing it all over again. And since it wasn’t too much fun the first time (being grown up sucks you know), I don’t think it gets any better this time round. To top it all, just then when I’m all nicely settled in again, the Fellow is bound to get posted out to another god forsaken place and we’ll be back to square one.