#gettingolder

Regen lässt uns das spüren, was unter der Haut schon lange am prickeln ist..

There is only so much romanticising I can do to not feel as if I want to chuck myself off a cliff every Sunday. I’ll wake up in the morning feeling like death to turn over, look at my phone and lo and behold, it’s that day of the week again. 

As a kid, it was the dread of last-minute homework and one more day of freedom before going back to the mundane life of school. It was the anxiety that would creep in, deciding that I should probably wash my hair and have an early night.

As I've gotten older, I have been trying to do everything I can to avoid the "Sunday scares". Whether this be getting up and going to a gym class or running and grabbing coffee with the girls. I've grown to learn my brain works on constant activity.

I try to now see Sundays as the start of the week instead of the end. I treat each and every one like the start of spring. I deep-clean my apartment and restock my tea. I meal prep for the following week and try out the new recipe I saved on TikTok months ago.

There is something so beautiful about learning not to be afraid and to instead embrace each emotion. I know that I will forver find myself hating Sundays but at least I can learn to find comfort in the unkowing of what the rest of the week will bring.

A sea of crooked unevenness

That is what this valley is 

Brown sunken pools

Dirty with the heat of the black periphery 

A wide rutted  ridge  connecting 

Barren dry hills 

Not a touch of verdant in sight.

Hollow and fat ravines 

they are patchy 

filled with the stone of a tight lip

The face of childhood mocked me

from that valley