Surrounded by the Same Furniture

The calendar changed. My surroundings didn’t.

It’s everyone’s last week of a much-endured August. By next Monday, we’ll return to the routines we’ve already lived out in our minds, the same place filled with to-do lists and a constant sway between short-term goals and the bigger picture.

In the past, I would’ve been planning September the way you plan the year on January 1st. It has always been the beginning of mine, whether I was starting the fall semester as a student or as a teacher. My life has always started in the first week of September.

I would’ve spent hours collecting photos on Pinterest, starting a new bullet journal, planning lessons, buying new clothes for the year, making plans for the upcoming breaks, getting a haircut, doing my nails, deep-cleaning the house and, eventually, cleaning my classroom.

Today would’ve been orientation day.

Instead, I’m sprawled on my sofa, enjoying a homemade cappuccino while Modern Family plays in the background. Cam is currently climbing the tree he won’t protest for.

I feel delayed.

Time is passing, and I can picture how it should be in the most parallel of ways. Every day that I wake, I know with acute predictability how it would have played out a year, two years, three years ago. Instead, I’m having the same day I dreamt of in the middle of a chaotic workday, in the middle of a never-ending week. Well, here I am.

When does the joy come in?

At this point in every story, there’s a sudden jolt. A change. A move to a new city, a different environment. New people. But surrounded by the same furniture, I wonder if the only thing that’s changed is the life I had. I thought I had traded it for something in return.

I am well aware that I’m in charge of it all. Entirely. However, I can’t deny that I had hoped every decision I made in spite of my fatigue and need for a break would mean the positives would come rolling down my hill, into a house that I have not quite built yet.

I keep waiting for something to tell me it has begun. But in the meantime, it’s time to make lemonade.

Structure.

The most important thing to tackle will be a timetable, a schedule. Anything that stops three days bleeding into the fourth. This is the single element that will stop this time from resembling a very unproductive lockdown. I spent days designing habit trackers at the time, only for them to remain empty grids.

I’ve given myself the time to rest, produce in a comfortable environment, and even awarded myself with the long-term punishment that comes with living within four walls. I never notice its effects until day five.

Today is day five.

Getting up early has been a breeze as my partner’s routine remains unchanged, and so do our morning coffees. We woke up just before seven, and then my day continued.

Here.

On the same sofa, facing the same TV.

I’ve cleaned, of course, and tackled some chores that were sure to give me a sense of accomplishment. A few buttons were pressed, and I haven’t made a mess since.

I want to paint, but can’t because the guilt of not finishing my mum’s drawings sits me back down. I tend to move on to the next thought before I feel like my procrastination is tainting a love language.

I make another cup of coffee.

Reading comes next, and I worry it’s too early to drop my guard and relax.

I sip on the last drops, now caramel from the melted sugar.

Writing is the only one I can’t put aside. These days, it’s unfinished sentences and bullet points for ideas. I annotated an airline magazine for an hour and a half on Monday while I ignored turbulence, but I can’t seem to focus now.

I push the De’Longhi coffee machine again.

Two shots.

Cooking is not a chore. It’s a beautiful part of your day.

Essentially, I’m trying to remember how to take care of myself again as time, authority and expectations are out of the window for some time.

I tend to forget that making a meal should take long at times, and that it can be part of your day rather than what’s taking time away. Something to avoid until I’m content with my tasks.

My lunches have been structured and prepared every year I’ve worked in education. I don’t blame my routine for aiding in this dismantling of my life, but I have a week to make my life what I envisioned when planning my two months’ notice.

Leave the house.

An all-or-nothing mentality will get you to stay home when the occasion doesn’t feel worthy of getting ready. Washing my hair, blow-drying it and straightening it just to go to a store and come back? This one never made sense. I did that daily before going into work. Sure, I justified it because I’d be out of the house for thirteen hours.

But why is my own time less important?

I could add structure. Plan daily activities. Cook because I’m interested in cooking. Get ready just to go to the grocery store. Walk through the city I never got to enjoy from inside the classroom. I’m sure I’ll do more with the time I’ve saved for myself than I can currently imagine. Truthfully, as long as I stay ready, plans are sure to open up.

That’s what always happens.

Isn’t it?