I love coming home after a long trip away. Love it. Love greeting the apartment, sorting through the mail, even though most of it is bills, bills, bills. Sometimes there’s a lovely surprise in there, like a postcard from afar, or a little package.
Six weeks in Australia both felt like six years, and six days. Time did its funny little compression/elongation trick, and then blew us out of the water with a hellish, time-travel-esque trip back home. We walked in through our front door, 36 hours on the dot after walking out of the one in Sydney. Grimy, greasy, lugging 90kg of luggage (I had a few books to bring over from Sydney …) and glad to be home.
And after 12 hours sleep, it means I am refreshed and ready to enjoy …
The Satisfying Things About Coming Home
Opening all the windows and lighting candles.
A good grocery shop that replenishes the empty fridge and sad looking shelves, yields a bunch of fresh flowers, and fills the fruit bowl.
A hot shower in your own bathroom, after 36 hours of travelling, with your own clean towels in reach.
Bed. Your own bed, with its pillow and sheets waiting to welcome you back in.
Wifi. Constant, fast, open-a-million-tabs-at-once wifi.
Making a pot of tea and sitting down to catch up, entirely, to gorge on the Internet.
Doing laundry. I love it. I love sorting out the suitcases of clothes, running the cycles with military precision, and pulling out loads of clean, familiar-smelling laundry.
Writing an enormous To Do list, with plenty of space for smug ticking.
Finding the space on the couch that may or may not dip slightly, because it’s your space and terrifically comfortable.
Spring is just around the corner, as is our move up north. Plenty of change is in the air, and it’s making me sneeze. It’s good to be back.