Technically, here in the south of France, summer could (and probably will) continue well into September. Yet my daughters and I returned from our official holiday together (12 days, split between Venice and Bologna) last night and there's an undeniable feeling of "end of summer" in the air.
I've actually spent most of the day close to tears. The holiday was good, though hard work - keeping the girls from killing each other, organising everything, dealing with their insatiable appetites, finding things to appeal to all of us... - and coming home was a long day. I feel exhausted, totally dissatisfied with the other parts of my "summer", and completely unmotivated for starting work again on Monday (not that I'm complaining exactly, it's great to actually have work, but I don't feel even remotely rested, I haven't had a minute to myself all summer... and I really, really need "me time").
And arriving here, to find the flat in the worst state I've ever seen it in, made my heart sink. I had to work up until past midnight on the day before our departure, so had no time for housework or tidying (and neither are my strong point at the best of times) before we left. Y was here most of time we were away to take care of the cats, but did nothing either - it was in fact worse than before I left. Disheartening. There's mess everywhere, and I mean everywhere. I don't know where to start...
Today, the washing machine appears to have given up the ghost and I've spent most of the afternoon trying to fix it. The toilet tank is leaking and has rotted the parquet underneath, one my cats, Zorro, is still stuck on a roof and refusing to come down, but miaowing pathetically (and loudly) day and night, my ex-MIL-from-hell is due to arrive tomorrow (not in my home, obviously) and is apparently in fighting form having argued non-stop with my ex (her son) while he visited her. She also claimed that our daughters are probably not even his biologically (WTF?) and my teeth are already on edge at the thought of her being here for the next 10 days.
Y is in a total funk and his depression is driving me batshit - he takes no advice, is becoming diet-obsessed, mopes about and does NOTHING. I'm struggling enough as it is, I simply cannot take on someone else's issues. That sounds heartless (and maybe is) but I just can't. I'm feeling overwhelmed and miserable.
Realising that I'll most likely spend the rest of my life totally alone has been hard too. I need "me time" more than most people, so being alone at home isn't a problem in itself (I relish it, even), but never having anyone to love me, make me feel special, accompany me, take some of the pressure of me, support me, spoil me... that's kind of hard. Growing old totally alone isn't a cheering prospect.
So there you have it. Another gloomy update. People say you make your own happiness, but what do you do if you don't know how? What do you do if you don't know what happiness is?
