Snooze.
That’s what I’d like to be doing this morning. Snoozing.
As a matter of fact, that’s what I did all week long. I snoozed, I slept, I yawned. My body has felt so mentally and physically exhausted that I haven’t had much brain power for anything else.
You know what I wanted to do this weekend? Write so many blog posts. I wanted to sit with a coffee by my side and write from dawn to dusk. I wanted inspiration to strike from above and takeover my keyboard.
It didn’t.
Instead, I scrolled through online fashion sites, retailers and looked at home decor. I perused sites to find a cute pajama set (still haven’t found one I want yet). And I found myself on Pinterest. Pinning everything from rooms in homes to the latest overnight oats recipes. I switched off completely and watched programmes like Coronation Street. Spent hours on Instagram, doing nothing productive. I went to bed early because at some points, I just couldn’t even focus a minute longer.
Why hasn’t my brain been able to focus this week?
I’m blaming the weather. Blaming the move. And blaming myself for letting easy distractions take over.
Settling into a new routine is hard. Moving from your home of three plus years is hard. There’s an emotional toll that I wasn’t expecting to come with it. I feel so far away from my friends, where a text doesn’t feel like enough and where planning a get together takes a serious effort. More effort than saying at 5pm, do you fancy popping round later for a cheeky few post-work?
I think what I’m really feeling is sad. So maybe what I need is to wallow for a little bit. Does anyone remember the Gilmore Girls episode where Lorelei is trying to convince Rory to wallow post-break up? I feel like I need to wallow for a little bit. A good and proper post-London flat break up wallow. I need to eat a tub of ice cream. I need to google new homes, feeling a little like I’m on an obsessive Tinder search but for houses. And I need to let myself feel it.
It’s OK to feel emotional when your life changes. My mom had asked me if Joe and I had taken a photo in front of our flat before we left.
We didn’t.
And to be honest, I’m not totally sure I could have. The day of moving was emotional and physical work.
But I kind of wish we had. That last moment in front of our doorstep. A last look into our home that’s treated us so well. The home that kept cherished memories. Greeted so many visitors. So many drinks cheers’d together. Many a burned popcorn bags. Had plenty of sick days – and good days. TV marathons. Laughing until we cried. Crying until we laughed.
It was home.
And now, though my brain and yes, even my heart has told me that we’re doing the right thing… there’s a little part of my heart and my head that feels a little bit heavy.
So I’m going to go ahead wallow. Reach for the ice cream. The coffee. A great movie. A glass of wine. And I’m going to get through it.
Because I am actually, truly excited for the next steps to come and living outside of London. In the grand scheme of life, a move is small. I just think there’s a tiny piece of me that doesn’t want to quite close the door yet.
Kelly xox