It's Sunday morning, day of rest and all that. You're supposed to be lazing, preferably while someone else labours in the kitchen to make a decent meal, while hopefully someone else is washing the car, cutting the grass and all those other chores that need to get done, somehow. Houses need staff to run them, they don't get clean by themselves, neither does the laundry get done or any of those other must do things. Sadly, my dog does not have opposable thumbs so that leaves him out of the housework detail, actually, out of anything that is of use. Managing the housekeeper who used to come became a job in itself, when she was available I wasn't and so on. Fortunately the man who cuts the grass needs no supervision, we just have to find him.
It's an incredibly beautiful day outside, blues skies, hot sunshine, the kind of tropical day that entices you to come out and play. And yet, after many days of storming rain, wind, thunder and lightening there is no enthusiasm for the beach. Come to think of it, I've not been to the beach in Trinidad for going on four years! The smell of the ozone, clean, briny and sharp, the crash of waves on a sandy beach, wind swishing through the coconut trees, all just a half hour drive from the house and yet...as much as the sea is my refuge, there is no reason to go. The small sliver that shimmers through the trees from my front windows while not enough to assuage the longing is all that I have the energy to muster up. Truly sad state of affairs for one who at every chance would spend it massaging sand between my toes.
There is also no desire to cook a Sunday meal or any of those Sunday things my mother made us do. Her attitude was that if we managed to cram all our chores into Saturday's we'd have a whole day free, conveniently forgetting that she would find us things to do if we had free time. There was always stuff to do and in all these years, it has not changed. Always, something to do. This morning there is no water, again. A regular weekend feature but maddening none the less simply because there are things to do. Perhaps it is the Universe's way of saying go out and play, but I DON'T WANT TO.
Not that I know what I do want. It's that queer restless feeling that takes hold sometimes. The one that makes me want to throw caution to the wind and say f*** all those things that aren't interesting. To be a gypsy, to not care enough because others don't. To soldier on, past the point of pain, to keep working at it when at the end it will all be for naught. Because it is hard to break the habits of a lifetime and throw off always having to do.
It is a beautiful Sunday morning. Enjoy it, whatever you do.