when in doubt

do nothing

Darlings!

At last, the world’s transformation into positively autumnal is complete. The days start as they mean to go on: dark and gloomy. The only difference between the hours of dawn and twilight is the direction of traffic. The wet pavement catches the lights strung along the promenade; this all is beginning to resemble a suspicious amount an oil painting of a street artist somewhere in Montmartre. The air is cold. The rain isn’t just for fun any more, it’s now burdened with the function of keeping everyone’s feet wet until March.

But of course, this is no Montmartre. We know this because we can see drunk football fans spilling out of the stadium, celebrating (though it could just as well be the opposite). Incomprehensible they may be we can still tell they’re not French. French people don’t know how to go knees up and one-hundred-and-twenty-pints, they’re just too soiree and wine. That’s all good and well for the French, but anyone living in the proximity of a major football stadium in London will be dreaming of rainy paintings of Montmartre on game nights.

I’m feeling dramatic, can you tell? (This is a joke, you probably most definitely can tell. But like, fun-dramatic. Not actually dramatic.)

***

I dug around in my noodle up there and decided that maybe staying inside and cleaning up spilled milk over and over again is bad for my mental health. I left the milk, then realised why stop there when I can just leave the whole house? We put our prettiest faces on and went to do errands. You can tell my life is exciting because to do the tasks I’ve been procrastinating from completing all I have to do is just wait for something even less fun to come up. I’m blessed: it always does.

(Sandra, I’m sorry - one day I will be stoic and wise, and neutralise the non-fun tasks, and see them as just “things”, but not today. It’s not that I don’t want to take advice. I choose not to, so I can make this joke about procrastination.)

We needn’t have bothered with prettifying the faces. This is the wonderful time of the year when everyone looks equally tired. If anything, looking put together is a little obnoxious. “These stay at home moms sure have a lot of time on their hands, huh?” Why yes we do, the day after the cleaner has been. The rest of the week we just stay indoors.

***

I took the girls to a plant store near our house. When we walked in I regretted instantly ever getting my plants elsewhere. I grew up in Riga close to the botanical gardens, and I think here in East London this is probably the closest we can get to that experience. The children loved it.

Zoe discovered that the cacti are sharp (we all have to learn sometime). She was sitting down looking at them when she called me and said: “I had a little accident!” In our household, like many other households with young children, this mostly means that a change of outfit is in order. So, naturally, I was instantly mortified. Thankfully, she only stabbed herself. Phew, close one.

***

I can feel my brain beginning to work with the sudden influx of oxygen. The cogs are turning. Not quite enough to make a point, but one will form in time, one can hope. I’m sure this entire post not a single thing was said. If I was to tell you one thing, though, I’d tell you this: I’m planning on basking in this melancholy until late December, at least. Things come together same way they come apart. I watch it all from here and sip my coffee.

When in doubt, do nothing. Things are good and they will get better still, I can feel it. I smell the air and hold onto my oversized beret while free falling down a sentimental spiral straight into wonderland.

I hope to come back to you soon with a point of some sort.