There’s something definite and comforting in a mug of tea with a tea bag that’s slowly cooling with the water as you leave it untouched due to some more interesting item on the computer screen. Then you rediscover the mug, take a zip, and grimace at the foul taste of cold tea. That’s domestic bliss, isn’t it?
I woke up this “morning”, not having slept much, but feeling a contentedness that is strange. I walked around the house, and felt as if everything is neat and ordered, and every item is where it should be. Both in life and in spirit. If I were the cat, and not me, I would be sitting on the floor with one leg sticking out while licking my tummy. I would also purr like a car engine.
For some reason I woke up before Mark, so I had the house to myself, except for the accompanying snores from the bedroom.
Cold floors and naked feet are one way to wake up properly. You look outside and see that England is back to normal; partly cloudy and maybe with the promise of rain some time during the day. Then you wait for the kettle to whine for that first cuppa that you can let cool and then rediscover.
It’s unusual that I’m up early because Mark is the early riser, and I’m not. Poor thing must be exhausted after the last few days. No, Mark doesn’t snore like a sawmill. Not yet at least. But he does have a wheeze, and sometimes a stutter. It’s his way of snoring. Listening to that fed my sense of bliss.
Of course, if anyone is up, we have the animals around prodding us for food or walkies. So, I had to take the dogs out for a walk, and let the cat out the back door since he would never be caught dead with his owners walking him about. And outside, this bit of England is beautiful.
And you know what? I feel confident. That’s a strange feeling. I feel like things are going to be all right now. I may still turn and twist something that interest me, and come close to feeling like I’m over-thinking, but at least now I feel like the world is pretty good and that the immediate future will be pretty good. The see-saw of my temper has settled; not so many deep valleys and high peaks.
It’s almost like Mark’s more flatline temper has rubbed off on me. It would be about time, after all these months we’ve been together. But of course it can’t last, and I just recognise this for what it is. A plateau of contentedness that will last until my head gets something new to fret about.
The picture illustrating this post makes me want to pour a glass of wine, and that reminds me that I need to restock my wine-stash. But hitting the wine already is a little too bourgeoisie even for me. And I still haven’t switched the label from ‘boyfriend’ to ‘husband’ when I think about Mark. But the idea makes me warm and fuzzy.