I went for a walk into town at lunchtime today, purely to escape the house for a little while - to escape the computer, the washing machine, the dishwasher, and the endless rounds of picking up and putting away. Some days it feels like every time I leave the study, there’s another sink full of washing up - another pile of dirty clothes.
It chips away at you.
My other half berates me for doing too much - suggesting that I should pull the kids up for not pulling their weight - but she’s seen their rooms - she’s seen the way they live if given the chance. Every request will be done later or tomorrow - and tomorrow becomes the next day, and the next.
I pulled my boots and coat on, and walked to the local supermarket. It was only while walking home again that I realised I had almost completed the entire trip without really being aware of where I was, or what I was doing - lost in thoughts about work, future work, internet stuff, and friends.
“Internet stuff” has kind of become a second job. When my day job ends, and dinner is done, I return to the study, sort through emails, and fire up the flight simulator. Last night I live-streamed the journey from Kerry to Galway on the west coast of Ireland - a few nights before from Haverfordwest to Caernarfon in Wales - accompanied by a merry band of viewers as I chatted about aircraft, aviation, history, and memories of visiting the various places en-route.
That people watch me pretend to fly pretend aeroplanes still boggles my mind. That they arrive in greater and greater numbers is somewhat bewildering. I receive emails every week from retired real-world pilots - relating their appreciation for what I’m doing. It’s humbling.
Anyway.
So yes - I walked into town and back in my own little world. While turning the key in the door on my return, I thought back to last week when I passed a good friend without recognising their presence.
It’s not good, is it.
I need to slow down. To invest some time in myself. I know - I’ve said this all before.
Maybe it’s time to start working my way through the pile of unread books, or to start writing the novel I’ve always thought I might have inside me (and lets be real - it would be novels - not just one - because if I can write this much about nothing, just imagine how much I could make up about something that never happened).
The clock just ticked past midnight. I should go brush my teeth and fall into bed. Our little black cat would probably be quite pleased if I left and he got the living room to himself.