It’s Sunday night. For me, traditionally, Sunday night is for sulking.
I am an equal opportunity sulker on Sunday nights, I try to make sure that nothing is missed. I sulk about things like not finishing my weekend “to do” list, which is always far too long and does not account for the fact that I sleep in every Saturday (and Sunday). I sulk about the long list of emails that will greet me when I get to work, and the fact that my officemate will take her first coffee break at the busiest part of the morning so that I have to do her job as well. I sulk about having to be a grownup with bills and expensive hobbies and the fact that I can’t retire yet. At thirty-two.
Most of all, I sulk about the fact that my energy and best waking hours are forfeited to my colleagues for five days a week, people who just don’t consider them as precious as I do. I sulk about the frown lines that all this Sunday night sulking gives me.
I waste a big chunk of my Sunday sulking about Monday.
But not this time. It’s Sunday night, and thanks to a little birthday happening on the other side of the world (long live the Queen!) I have another day of resto relaxo to look forward to tomorrow.
I become an unshakable monarchist every time the June long weekend rolls around.
Tim and I needed this long weekend.
Things are always really easy for us, as far as our relationship is concerned. We’re pretty nice people, we’re pretty nice to each other, and we’d rather spend time with each other than anybody else. We’ve been like this for six years now, cruising along without having to work too hard because it just works.
But lately things have been just a little bit crap. It’s nothing to really worry about, we just know that it could be better. We could be better. We’ve been butting heads and pushing each others’ buttons, and sometimes we’re not reading each other all that well. It’s all a bit confusing when you’re used to things ticking along like clockwork.
So this weekend has been all about us. It’s been for talking, kind words and understanding. Listening, smooching, and reminding each other (and ourselves) what matters most. So far, this has been exactly what we needed.
I feel like we’ve peeled off a few layers.
It has rained all weekend.
When I moved to Melbourne I dreamed of Winters like these. Icy cold air on my face, layers of cosy long-sleeved clothes and tights. I spent today with my study window wide open so that I could listen to the rain and the little birds in my neighbour’s tree. Tim planted himself happily by the heater, and I spent as much time as possible soaking up my freezing, gloomy city from the comfort of my cosy room.
Cold air on my nose, and cups of tea to warm my hands. Few things make me as happy as a wet, wintery day – especially when I can spend it as I please.
Our weekend so far.
:: drawing faces :: cold fingers and toes :: hot showers :: sixty hearts on a steamy mirror :: risoni salad :: vegemite toast and coffee :: Blankets by Craig Thompson :: Of Mice and Men :: candles :: roses :: a warm puppy, and belly rubs :: peanut butter with a spoon :: a tour of Mum & Dad’s Hong Kong hotel lobby via Facetime :: early morning snuggles :: minestrone :: a long chat with my grandmother :: furniture polish :: ABC Classic FM :: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo :: kisses :: the sound of rain on the roof :: lanterns :: quality time with my camera :: an impulse purchase :: sleep-ins :: bare winter branches :: bare skin :: kind words :: last autumn leaves :: fajitas :: pizza :: listening :: love ::
It’s been two days, and already it feels like five. We must be doing something right.