Last week I succumbed to a severe case of feeling sorry for myself. A sore throat and snuffles caught from Mr T whose immunity was still down after his Viking Challenge became a debilitating illness (I just had to go back to bed), an on-going bout of writer's block signalled the end of my career before it had even begun, and the Dutch climate was at its worse. It was so cold the heating came on. I felt so miserable that I even turned down Mr T’s offer of going out to dinner. It would be a waste of money, I wouldn’t appreciate any of it…blah blah blah, followed by the usual this is all your fault, this wouldn’t happen if we were back in the UK.. etc etc
Basically I lost the plot. Lack of motivation is a huge problem. There are days when I only have the cat for company. It’s like being at home with a toddler - it can be great fun but the conversation is very one way. The TV show Pointless can be a highlight of my day - a couple of weeks ago I had two pointless answers in the final! It’s an opportunity to shine, I have to think, and a bit like our weekly pub quiz, the opportunity to prove I am still a capable and intelligent person (or not as the case may be in the pub quiz - this week's specialist topic Muhammad Ali. Note to self; always check the obituaries before heading out.)
I fear I am turning into bored housewife of Haarlem. We all like to feel valued. Mr T goes to work, gets told he’s done a good job, gets a salary to prove it and has lots of people asking him for advice. He is making a contribution. I don’t have that. I don’t have anyone slapping me on the back when I’ve finished vacuuming my black carpet for the umpteenth time, and trust me, when the words don’t flow from the keyboard, its very easy to look at the cat hairs and the inevitable dust and think, ooh I’ll have to run the hoover over that again.
Dull Dutch days make it all seem ten times worse.
It so much easier to be positive when the sun comes out and appreciate the opportunities that ex-pat life has given me.
Back in the UK I wouldn’t be walking ten minutes out of my front door on Saturday morning to an impromptu comic-con fest in the centre of town, to a market full of fresh, local produce before cycling out on a purpose built traffic-free path to a vast stretch of soft-sandy beach for a picnic. I wouldn’t go to a yoga class on a Monday afternoon where I could sit by a canal afterwards and enjoy a chat and a drink with friends from New Zealand, Australia and Belgium. I wouldn’t take a morning jog (there’s no way it can be called a run - I'm not that positive!) along the banks of a canal and see cygnets, baby geese and ducklings.
I know. I just need to get out more.
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