Extract (1) The Grey Country

The Grey Country ((work in progress,  for slow reading)

…… There is no total quietness  here and thus one never feels entirely alone. That’s what I thought, while I was moving  into the lighthouse, as if I were in the middle of a sentence or a thought. Usually when I give up an apartment for another, I’m paralyzed by piles of unanswered mundane questions  concerning the new home, while being invaded by a strange sense of defeat. So totally dejected,  I try to fix in my memory the place impregnated with  my life that I will  soon return to anonymity. I am momentarily immersed in a diffuse anxiety, persistent until I can reinvent my life in the new city, the new campus, where I will have found the ideal café, or the  park with a water feature  reminding  me of the sea. But   only when I can  get up at night without turning on the light or  skinning my knees will I know that I am truly at home. Up to this moment of grace where I start to become one with the new place, I tend to be tormented with persistent and useless doubts: the apartment is too small, too noisy, too dark, or I was wrong to accept a position in another city, or this promotion was not worth changing  my habits.

I wallow  in  uncertainty and this is   all the more unsettling that I can no longer take refuge in the  automation which usually  lightens the weight of my daily life. Breakfast time, for example :  I can proceed without being quite awake, or going to work :  a task my body can perform  obediently following the route learned by heart, even when it is numb. In other words,   everything I have learned to do without really thinking in order to manage  my  everyday, somewhat boring,  life, which finds its true meaning when a new routine corsette my  days tightly to prevent me from skidding. This is how things usually  are  when I move into a new apartment.

© 2015 Sylvie G

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