read without judgement

Six days and no writing. Not even a line in my journal. My last journal entry is from the 19th of June, the 169th day of daily journaling. I spent several days in the countryside with the family - my family of five, my sister's family of four, and mom and dad. With a small house and many people I couldn't find a quiet moment or space even before sleep, and I didn't want to write in front of others, to explain what I was doing or why I was writing. So I opted for days without writing. What does it say about me? Don't answer. Don't judge.

The last time the three families met during the Christmas dinner, squished together around the table in a small living room in my mom's flat in the city. After six months we got together in a country house with a garden. The summer weather stayed gorgeous for all the days we were there. We celebrated my nephew's birthday and Midsummer Eve. We ate well and too much, as we always do when we are together. We talked a lot, taking turns and at the same time, of now and the past, like we always do. Everyone helped with something - picking strawberries, heating the sauna, shopping for groceries, chopping cucumbers for a salad, cutting the grass, setting the table, making rhubarb pie, fixing the faucet, frying the fish, watering tomatoes, sweeping the floors, grilling the meat, doing dishes, playing with the youngest in the family (my four-year-old energy filled nephew). My sis took her family to the beach, my family went to a little hike, mom and dad stayed home reading old newspapers and taking a nap. I didn't write. I demonstrated great skills when playing with slime and set a record in stacking plates on a shelf after hand washing them in a sink and drying them with a towel.

I returned home on Wednesday evening. My sis and her family went back to their home. My oldest and middle daughter had to go back to work. My dad returned to the city flat.  My youngest stayed in the countryside with granny. My husband went to visit his mom.
I am at home alone. I thought I'd have a perfect day yesterday with yoga and reading and writing and walking. I sabotaged myself fully. No yoga. No writing. Just a bit of reading, and a short walk in the evening. What did I do? I watched TV and ate cookies. Why did I do it even when I was fully aware that I was not doing anything productive? Don't answer. Don't judge.
When people had to stay home during the state of emergency there was a lot of talk about how they filled their time when they got bored. Some cleaned their closets, some knitted sweaters, some learned to play a guitar. I worked. The distance teaching, even when I did my best to live a balanced life, was time consuming. I was tired when the school finished, and my home was a mess. I did not get bored once. It was only when school was finished that I finally washed all the windows. I know that people make lists to get things done and feel productive. I admire this. They make plans to meet others and go to places. Good for them. At the same time I wish to have days of staying home, doing nothing, meeting nobody and not having to explain or justify it to anyone. The hot and humid weather makes my fingers swell and sweat run down my spine. Not a weather for long walks. My home is cool. My sofa is soft. I watched several Grey's Anatomy episodes yesterday. I am convinced that Shonda Rhimes is a genius. Today's to-do-list has zero items on it. So far I have taken a short morning walk, made a smoothie, read three chapters of "Where the Crawdads Sing," put a load of laundry to spin in the washing machine, checked Instagram and Facebook, warmed and ate left-over zucchini tartlet, watched "The Murder in the Vicarage" with Geraldine McKeown as Miss Marple, vacuumed the living room carpet, read the newspaper and Ruth's blog post. I am writing.
It's very likely that I will go to back to the country side tomorrow. So I remain wondering how many days it would take until I would get bored being at home alone. Don't answer. Don't judge.