009: Routine, or lack there of

A day doesn’t go by when I don’t think about my life in England. Be it a photograph or a status on Facebook or doing something again for the first time since I got back. I miss my friends, the environment the lifestyle and I miss the person that I was. There was so much excitement of living on campus, drinking every second night, barely studying and enjoying the freedom of living a life where consequences hardly matter. The things however, that I miss the most isn’t the parties and the cheap booze and the plentiful amount of attractive international men – it’s the routine that I created.

Each morning, I would be work by a knock on the door, throwing on whatever clothes that were lying on the floor and met with my three favourite housemates (or people. In the entire world) and trekked sleepily down to the dining hall for breakfast. We would part ways go to classes, if our time tables suited, we’d meet up for lunch or lounge around in each-others rooms before heading down with our whole dorm for dinner, gossip and a whole lot of laughs. Every day, normally integrated with some of the drama that seemed to follow us wherever we went. But that was the main part. It was normal. There was normality.

But since returning, that routine has vanished. I wake up in the morning with no plan, no structure and no motivation. I know I need to create something; something to give my days reason again. I want to make a new routine to get me back into a somewhat normal life again. I want, no, it’s more than a want, it’s a need – I need to regain some of the routine. 

006: Fear of the Idle

I have been home now for just over two weeks and the one constant thing about the past sixteen days has been a strange fear of being idle.

Before I went travelling, I led a very simple life. Although I had a full load at university, for a time worked two jobs and had regular weekend tips down to see family and friends, I longed for my afternoons of doing nothing. When I could curl up, in some disgusting assortment of dirty clothes, tucked up in bed, lap top resting on pillows beside half a dozen mugs and bowls, smeared with the remains of meals or lingering dregs of tea. I would browse through the Internet and watch reruns of old TV shows. Although it included living in my own squalor I was content with the idle life I led.  

But since my return, I can't seem to enjoy sitting around doing nothing. I can barely stand sitting still. This might have something to do with my lap top still being shipped from the UK and my bed still in storage, but I am still incapable of having a full hour of nothing, let alone a whole day. The truth is I seem to have a whole lot of things to do. Finding work, unpacking my boxes, teaching myself how to cook again, reconnecting with people I haven't seen in years with the excuse of "oh but I've been in England" because I know, as almost everything that does, that the subconscious Katie has something else in mind.

I can't bare the thought of returning to that lifestyle. Not doing anything. No having a reason to get dressed in the morning, or to check the mail box. Because I had deluded myself into thinking that it didn't matter. That it was only going I effect me. That one one else was cared. And I didn't care. 

I am so scared of going back, that I am filling my days so I don't even have to time to be idle. If I get into different routine then there is one less thing I will have to worry about. However, I am nervous that once I resettle back into my unit - unpack all the boxes and put everything thing into place - I will run out of things to do. 

Guess I'll need something more to fill in my days. Any suggestions?

004: Walls With Secrets

Things are beginning to fall into place. I took the leap yesterday to drive from the comfort (and well stocked pantry) which is my parents’ house my little unit beside my university. It was the first long drive I’ve done since returning – that was nerve racking to say the least, had to keep reminding myself that I wasn’t in Europe any more, and that roundabouts go the other way.

Just driving back, making the physical move was enough to re-trigger all my life changing goals that I have culminated over the last couple of months – all those plans to make the house pretty, to get fit and to keep a schedule. Such a thrill to know that something is actually going to change now.

However this thrill didn’t last long. While I was gone, as punishment for extending my trip, my housemate (love her to bits) took over the larger bedroom. I have no issue with this, as before we lived together, I was in the second room, but returning to that room was a strange occurrence.

That room was the room I had battled depression in, and although the cream coloured walls hide it well, I still see the shadows cast and the memories hidden there. It took me a moment to recognise that this is my home, and although the room is the same, I am not.

Currently it is a mess of coat hangers and boxes, but it will be mine. And not the hermitage that I hide away in, but a sanctuary, a beautiful place just for me. So I guess that is now up there on y ever growing list of things to do. Might as well get started, rather than wasting my time on here.

Kathleen x