No Mood for Remembering

I have been finding it difficult to write since we came back. Not that there isn't anything to say. Oh, there are lots. To do with the kids, to do with the flat, to do with my job (or no-job?), to do with how I seem to harden even more as a mother after I am back, contrary to my original intentions. I even thought about our nightmarish pre-departure swipe of our rented flat in Scotland and wanted to jot down all the horrible details.

But no, a day went by and another and another, it was so easy to not bother about the blog and just go for a nap or a read or an earlier night. Here when one is constantly feeling sticky except for the few minutes after a shower (or when a cool wind blows after rain), lethargy is in one's nature. Somehow, when there is no need to update anymore, I have also lost the urge to write and to take photos of the kids. Who are my readers? Do I write for myself, do I write for you who are still reading (and I can sort of guess who you are), or do I write for old times' sake?

Then one afternoon I was looking at the soft toys we brought back from Scotland. They are put together with the other soft toys which had been kept here in boxes while we were away. I put one near my nose - it smelt of - nothing. And nothing was a nostalgic smell. In contrast to the musty smells of the other soft toys, the soft toys we brought back are clean and odourless. They had been loved and cuddled. At that instant, those two years plus, which have sometimes felt like time borrowed out of another dimension, having no continuity with this life that I have come back to claim, suddenly came alive to me and I missed it.

I think I will write now and then, when that feeling comes, just that it may not be as narrative as before. I am not sure who I write to anymore, but I hope you still come this way, now and then.