Band Maiden No.2 

bm1 

Band Maiden No/1 

Separate Rooms

Its been a long, hot summer and frankly, I'm nearly at the end of my tether. so its not really surprising that I've been sleeping in the library, which is the only room in the house with airconditioning.

It all started a few weeks ago when I started to come down with an appalling virus (no details will be shared, to protect your sensibilities and my modesty).

I withdrew into splendid isolation in the library so as not to infect any of the family, so as not to gross out any of the family, and so I could curl up like a wounded animal and just be ill in peace. I slept for 16 hours a day for the first week and about 12 hours a day for the second. Truthfully I didn't much care whether I lived or died, and for the first time that I can remember I really, truly understood what it means to be mortal. I understood that lives can end in illnesses like this, and that I am neither immortal, nor especially important in the overall scheme of things.

Anyway, during this whole time we went through a heatwave (no surprise in tropical BrisVegas) and I took comfort in being able to keep cool, even if that was the only luxury I could indulge in. After three - close to four - weeks the illness is finally gone, but somehow or other I'm still in the library, tucked up on the single cot bed, marital bed abandoned until the heat finally breaks.

I'm not even sure why this is. I love my husband to a quite ridiculous extent and being parted - even for the length of an ordinary workday - is a real hardship. But here I am in one room and there he is in another. He's hating it and he misses me. I'm just happy to be in the cool and away from the rest of the world in my little secret hideout.

I think that this temporary bunk is a sign that I'm a bit burned-out. The whole musing on life and death bit was pretty wearing, especially since I thought I might get a first hand look at the alternatives. I know I stopped reading then and haven't been able to pick up a book or magazine since. Its been a struggle getting back into work-mode too, and the constant scratch scratch scratch in my brain over the new office arrangements isn't helping either.

I'm also much more cranky than usual, especially with our daughter who is a very nice young person generally (if a bit loud and full of moisy, room filling exuberance - like any teenager) and doesn't deserve quite as much grumbling as she's getting. I start feeling persecuted all of a sudden - why isn't anyone helping me in the kitchen?; who should I be the only one who does the laundry around here?; can't anyone ELSE change a toilet roll in this house!?! - you get the idea.

I think this retreat into the single-bed is about all of these things. I just want, need, a few weeks to myself. I need a chance to recharge and dream my own dreams and stretch my own limbs and not be someone's wife, someone's mother, someone's workmate, someone's daughter, someone's friend....In the words of Greta Garbo, "I vant to be alone."

At least I know that none of this is a symptom of deep-seated misery or some hidden passive-agressive desire for attention. I'm tired. I'm not able to recreate myself while there's lingering heat, lingering fever, lingering tension and stress.

When the first softer breath of Autumn fills the house I know I'll be able to "un-hunker" and return to my larger life. I need cooler air, softer nights, calmer breezes and gentler rains to revive my body and my spirits.

Roll on winter.

A Chickflick