Day 105: Family

With Fran's family at her mum's house for the weekend. Wasn't much looking forward to it, I've been so down the past week or so, trapped in the dark recesses of my mind, and the idea of having to perform, having to act, to be sociable, was terrifying, when I felt so small and bedraggled, when I wanted only to spend the next three days in my bed away from the world eating bad snack food from colourful packets and watching films in which expensive sets blow up in fiery explosions, not engaging in small talk and navigating social complexities and having nowhere to which I could escape. 

But it's not like there was any choice, it's important to everyone that I came, not least of all Fran, to whom I haven't exactly given my undivided self of late, so I had to just pull myself out of my doldrums and force myself along. 

And as with many things, I felt much better once I was moving.

The house is a beautiful old place in the country, we arrived to the soft light of evening falling over tall hedges and snug gardens, and in the house large rooms full of wood and books and the right kind of smells. Comfortable, elegant, homely. 

We ate curry that John had made at the long dining table, then cakes that Helena had baked, before retiring to the living room to talk and drink tea, and it was calm and easy and nice. Fran sat on the floor with her arm around my leg, and I teased out the knots from the back of her hair, and listened to the others talk, and I felt very far from the pub and from stress and from the depression that has been lying on me of late.

In bed now in the spare room, faded books from Fran's childhood around us, old school photos, blankets and cushions and paintings in frames. Fran smooshed up beside me. My eyes starting to droop.

This is nice. I don't know many things but I know this is nice.