Quiet night. Got home around six-ish, made dinner, and then totally flaked out and did nothing for the next two hours. In fairness I’ve been pretty strict with myself, and structured with nanowrimo, and haven’t had a night off all month, but I still do feel pretty blah about not doing anything tonight.

But hey, the fire’s going, I have a glass of red wine, and the cat’s perched by my lap, curled up beside me. Things could be a lot lot lot worse. Work hasn’t been too bad, and Christmas is just around the corner.

I guess – I guess it’s just strange to have everything so stable around me at the moment. The house is lovely, it’s starting to get more like summer every day, the veggies in the garden are shooting up, we’re going to have a huge reunion with both our families coming together for Christmas… but something feels like it’s missing. I certainly don’t miss the dramas I had back in Dublin with awful flatmates (who I won’t name, but it wasn’t the big kiwi-aussie flat, nor was it the lovely flat with Catherine and Karl), or the general lost feeling I had all the time. But I do miss those feelings of discovery, of being somewhere new, of exploring, doing exciting things, meeting new people. I miss the adventure. And as nice as everything is at the moment, I guess the ‘blah’ I’m feeling comes from missing that sense of looking at the world with wonder, like you do when you travel.

I miss Holland. Is that weird? Miss Delft, Scheveningen, The Hague… miss the brown cafes, miss riding everywhere, even miss those weeks when we were hanging out with Niels and Douglas and Brugt at their cool place with the half bike above the door, rigged up as their street light, visiting the kornbeurs, going to movies, riding around, just doing nothing. Man, that was eight years ago! Hard to believe. I miss wandering around Delft, riding over canals in the snow…

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