Day two of blogging every day for the rest of January and I find myself under the covers just after half eight, panicking a little that I haven’t bothered to think of a topic to write about tonight and that I’m far too tired to try and put together sentences with any level of coherency.
It’s been one of those days where my brain is all over the place and living with my own company feels relentlessly exhausting. But it’s also been a quiet day and getting to the end of it with time for a hot bath (the luxury of being in our own flat is still not fading, I can’t get over it), a cup of chamomile tea and a book in bed before 9pm feels wonderful and reassuring (elderly vibes, I know✨✨✨…).
I’m reading Emma Mitchell’s The Wild Remedy at the moment, a book I like to dip in and out of occasionally, and it’s the loveliest – the drawings inside are beautiful and Emma’s reflections and openness about her own mental health leave me feeling a little less alone on short, dark winter days. It feels particularly like a bit of respite now that I’m no longer living on the edge of the city, with the luxury of having Fletcher Moss Gardens And Stenner Woods so close by. The moments and animals Mitchell spots and the accounts of her wanders through the countryside feel like a brief escape from life in the city centre, where reassuring signs of the changing seasons are harder to stumble upon.
This hasn’t been the most articulate of posts but whilst I doubt there’s much to gain from it from a reader’s perspective, I do feel a little better going to sleep knowing that I carved even a brief bit of time out of the day to write and reflect a little. Hopefully I’ll have more time to think of a topic and write about it, before I get cosy under my duvet, tomorrow.