Today it’s raining. My bicycle, having been ridden everyday with the boy for about a week (the novelty of learning to ride is yet to wear off), is sitting locked away in Spider Kingdom aka The Shed. It’s dark already at 4pm and the lights are on, my feet are cold and the boy has left to go home. Today starts the year of weekend visits.
It is a miserable day.
Let me explain: I’m feeling sorry for myself. I won’t deny it because, well, it’s true.
Today has been a crazy week. I’ve had family from Portugal over and that, naturally, promoted me from eldest daughter to taxi driver for the family. I love my car, but even I was getting sick of making two trips everywhere. (Two because there were too many of us for my car. Should have bought a limo for situations like this).
The boy was also over and we didn’t get as much alone time together as I would have liked. It meant stolen kisses, and time alone was snatched rather than taken graciously. Sounds almost romantic? Nope. It wasn’t. Yesterday we ended up driving around for a place to eat and being rejected from everywhere (our body clocks are awful and everywhere was closed – who knew restaurants closed at 10pm?) I was like a bottle of champagne as I drove home: bubbling, fizzing and wanting to explode. As a careful driver, I was able to do none. Pretty sure I’m due a breakdown within the next 72 hours as a result.
From now on, the boy will be finishing his degree at the university I have just graduated from. I will be starting my intensive course in another town. We’re not far from each other (about an hour drive) but we are busy. Weekends it is. It’s like I’m in prison and that will be my time off for good behaviour. I am dreading weekend visits. Shamefully I am completely in love. As a result, although he sometimes annoys me, I do love to spend time with him; and as much time as possible at that. But this isn’t a declaration of love, so hold off on the sick buckets just yet. What I’m trying to say is that: I’m going to miss the hell out of him and like a puppy, I almost feel lost. I’m independent and it hurts to say that, but it’s true. It is. Awful I know.
Today the family fly back to Portugal too. I will be driving of course, with a crying heart at the fact I’ve already said goodbye to the boy and a screaming purse at the thought of the cost of parking at Stansted Airport. This is one miserable day. The rain won’t stop and I’m pretty sure that Matilda the cat is mad at me even though I’m her favourite.
The hint of sunshine? My work experience starts tomorrow! I am so excited and so nervous simultaneously that I feel like I consistently need a wee. I am terrified that I won’t know what I’m doing and that lovely thing called doubt is slowly entering my brain. It’s making my heart race as if I’m running a marathon and my stomach has decided it’s on a rollercoaster. Brilliant. Fingers crossed I don’t throw up on my way there.