Life is not monotonous. Not mine at any rate. Life is slow, life is busy. Life is full, life is never empty. Life is jam packed with events and things to do until I find that sweet moment when I can put my feet up and wonder what I should do.
Even work which sometimes feel as if it has a dreadful monotony to it. You get up, go to work, come home. However the hours in between are full of conversations, disagreements, stuff ups, new jobs, meetings, and paperwork.
My life outside work is full of the endless changes to the calendar that is my husband’s life. The replanning of basketball on wednesdays followed by the football games, dinners out and get togethers he organises. The tasks and events my children’s lives generate coupled with the family get togethers that leave very few spare weekends.
This is before we get to the internal workings of my mind. The topics I flesh out to write that never find their way to digital paper. The tops I sew, the cardigans that I knit, the books I read. All occurring within the confines of my mind in the hopes that I will someday be organised enough to complete them.
It’s nearly the end of August. I am another year older and over a year into my repatriation. Last year’s to do list is pretty much complete and next year’s is rapidly filling up with new plans. Life is trundling forward – sometimes at speed and others at a crawl.
It is nearly spring and time to think about the garden.