In Between Days

Yesterday was a bit of an odd one. I spent the morning in a bit of a daze, not doing much more than eating toasted fruit bread and staring vacantly (it was a Saturday, after all...). Minutes seemed to drag as though they were tired by the effort of passing time.

By afternoon I found myself whisked off to a strange land ("The Countryside") to be surrounded by the bustle and comfortable fuss of family life (-not my family, I hasten to add: my family is so small we are at the point of extinction and the World Wide Fund for Nature may be getting an appeal together any minute). There is something lulling about watching the dynamics of a messily loving family: it is almost as though you see the family shorthand emerge and feel privy to some secret code - you watch the power struggles and yearnings of the youngest members as they try to find their place in it all; you see the adults drift in and out of roles they have created or been given; you see family traits - a smile, a laugh, an intonation - echoing across generations. It probably seems ordinary, mundane, even boring to most people: to me it was welcome respite. I might have looked dazed and out of my depth, but I felt calmed to see something uniquely normal, something brilliantly, exquisitely quotidien.

That all probably makes me sound like some sort of analytical misanthrope detached from the world - but it isn't how I felt, nor was made to feel: I was made to feel welcome and free just to be - and for that I am extraordinarily grateful. The pressure lifted for a while and I felt the sun on my skin. It was good. Just plain good.

The evening saw me back at the flat, however. My chilled mood couldn't last. Before too long another barbed and spitting spat broke out. Ugly things were said - some were meant, some weren't - but I could feel my strength slip away. It did neither myself nor my ex any credit nor favour: I am not proud of how I clawed back like a cornered cat. I slept dreamlessly, restlessly.

Sunday finds me contemplative, uneasy, uncertain. Not uncertain about whether or not I have done the right thing, not even uncertain about what I want, but uncertain as to how I proceed. It feels like an "in between" time - like the moment between jumping and landing, the moment between breathing in and singing out. The landing could go wrong, the note could be missed - it's all to be settled and decided but the action is already begun: I am committed to continue. I know I will have more days like these - I just need to find a way to deal with them.