Today. Arms full of frilly daffodils and stripy tulips. Dust banished and a cat purring loudly. A weird sense of disfranchisement from the usual routine. My usual rituals of one cup of tea after another, a laptop perched on my knee.
I’m not hungry today. As this has been a weekend stuffed with food, my appetite is sated, my stomach full with junk and Mother’s Day chocolate. My brain buzzing with all the possibilities a Spring Monday brings: lines laden with cold laundry, the coffee table laden with books I must carve out an hour or two to read, my mind quietly determined and my legs itching to run. On the spot if necessary. For those who consider treading water to be waste of time on the journey to contentment are wrong. Treading water gives one time to ruminate and rumination on a sunny day is one of the closest things to quiet wonderful.
Yes. This is a Spring Monday. A Monday full of hope and plans and madcap dreams. I used to think, you know, that it was the Winter months that were for dreaming big but now I am sure that layers of blankets dampen my enthusiasm for life and it is only when the birds start singing again that I can imagine that there is more to this than that. That is is only on the other side of a week of trashing and scrubbing that I can see the truths hiding behind clutter. The reasons why life is such a relentless ordeal for me when it appears to be a breeze for other people. But then maybe others just wear their confusion better: don’t feel the urge to shout it from the rooftops or drape it in lace doilies?
Today I am burning sandalwood. Forgoing the notion that Spring has to be all lemons, lavender and fragranced cliche and instead seeking out a scent with spirituality enhancing properties on a day when I am deeply focused inwards: able to think for once in a room that is immaculately tidy. A day that is joyfully empty of obligation. A day that is all mine to shape and scent as I please. Today there will be pineapple juice, vitamins and Paloma Faith (this song over and over). A kitchen floor scrubbed. New tyres for the car. Writing and reading. A bed dressed in white sheets because I dream better amongst the blank canvas that is white cotton. No bra so I do not feel confined. A billowing black linen top I adore. A vintage brooch pinned to my apron as I putter and mutter to myself amongst packets of seeds to be planted and terracotta pots to be scrubbed ready for a new season of pretty happy.
Perhaps I will make guacamole, a short list of everything I need right now, a long list of all the things I don’t need. Perhaps I will watch another episode of Real Housewives and ponder the mystery that is female friendship and Yolanda’s fridge. Maybe I will hold a mug cull and chuck out the pretty but chipped. Maybe I will refuse to take any nonsense anymore: demand certainty and joy. Choose Me. Maybe I will hold a cream mirror up to my face and really inspect my face without the smoke screen that is foundation. Maybe today is the day I will decide to grow my nails, write my heart out, set out my stall and stop wasting time!
Maybe, maybe, maybe. Who knows? It is a Monday in Spring. Anything could happen.