Photo courtesy of here.
It's funny what can change in a week. On Tuesday I arrived at my new place of work (Day 2) and looked on a sky just like this over the Thames giggling to myself at how happy I was. I determinedly ignored the brooding clouds which were in no way close to a reflection of my bursting chest and satisfied state of mind. I have a job. My Boy has a job. I like my job. My Boy likes me. All is right with the world.
Two days later and a series of abortive evenings out with argumentative, tired or otherwise not ideal dinner-mates (myself included) and I've swung a full 180. Full days' work where lunch breaks are frowned upon, the concentration required for constantly absorbing a varied and new environment and busy evenings that left me drained and full of recrimination have left me gnawing.
This morning I sat on a bench overlooking the Thames and my spirit was heavy. A weekend of library study, more concentration and a Sunday of work at a vintage shop that I help at does not bode a restful break from the week ahead of the Boy on nights. I can feel myself complaining. I don't like that word or that action. I love to think myself optomistic, but the Boy sees me as the opposite purely because my expectations are so very high that I am always, but always, disappointed at the inability of any mortal to live up to them.
So the buzz of the new job has worn off in less than a week and the prospect of a future here, while exciting in concept actually weighs heavy with me. Have you ever felt so relieved by a situation that the fall out of it leaves you so exhausted that you can't appreciate it any more?
Someone hug me.