Seven years, no itch

So summer is done and dusted, almost…. That said, I’m still sweating my bean off and doing a little happy dance every time there’s a storm forecast. When it doesn’t arrive, I suddenly find religion and start simultaneously cursing/praying to God to send a hint of a breeze and a shower. Most of my time at home is still spent starkers with all the windows open and a fan. There’s a beautiful image for you. Don’t say I never give you anything! But sadly that home time is less now I’m back to work. All the yays, (insert unamused face emoji here). And you know what that means – Christmas is just around the corner. Aaarrggghhhhhh….. stop it, stop it, STOP. IT!

This summer has been different. I haven’t been to the beach at all. Wwwhhhaaaatttt?!?!!Once known for crossing the road into the midday sun, going to the beach between morning and evening school shifts and every other available opportunity every day, and using the lowest spf that it’s possible to use that isn’t actually cooking oil – dark, shady, damp places are now my favoured location. Yeaaaaah, it’s just me and the mushrooms. That my alcohol consumption is now at a bare minimum too (in three months I’ve had half a dozen- max, which in the past would have been an average brunch consumption), said boozy brunches, lunches and dinners and day drinking/parties/festivals/film nights/end of the week/beginning of the weekend drinks, haven’t happened either. If I wasn’t me, I’d be absolutely sure I’d been possessed or inhabited by an alien; I barely recognise myself. Also, knowing that summer has always been the time of year that affects me most, emotionally – for as long as I can remember, I have sunk pretty low during August – I wrote myself a list of life admin to complete, and another of house projects to solve and bought a load of canvases and materials. Keep distracted, keep busy. Getting my papers and documents in order for March has been a priority, obviously. Organising long-overdue house obligations, changing names, making appointments, organising correspondence, little DIY jobs yada, yada, yada. Most of the time, the idea of the thing is worse than the actual doing of the thing. This tactic of keeping out of trouble and as occupied as possible seems to have worked…. as I finished my summer tasks, I started back to work. Which I think has nipped in the bud, the creeping blues I could feel approaching as I smugly crossed off my last to-do item.

Barcelona in August is both wonderful (literally everyone heads to their beach or mountain houses, so it’s deserted), and horrendous (heat, humidity, heat, humidity and HEAT AND HUMIDITY). But I could not love it more. Today I have been in Barcelona exactly seven years, and I remember arriving here as if it were yesterday. I had collarbones then! Stressed, unhappy and with the tiniest glimmer of hope that I could make it work. That changed so quickly though (not the hope bit), when I knew this is where I wanted to be – I can’t imagine being any place else. The change of flat last November and making it really feel like mine during August this year, has cemented that. I recognise now, that that was the missing puzzle piece, (tiny dog not withstanding). Barcelona is the place that feels most like home, it’s the place I call home – it is home.

Moltes gracies Barcelona, t’estimo molt.

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