Coming Home

After driving home from Northumberland with my Dad, dropping him off at his house (unloading the car of his belongings), I got back home. Stepping through the door it felt alien, not like home at all. The wooden floors were echoey and hard sounding. The place was empty (of people). Closed off to the street (I purposefully have the paper blinds closed at the front windows always). It didn't feel like home. I wasn't sure why that was, perhaps I like having family around me all the time (despite having needed some personal space when I was away with them), perhaps I like a fuller house than it was at that second. Perhaps it was the sense of place. I've felt strangely dislodged on coming back. Drawn to something I have never been drawn to before. Very much enjoyed the sea, walking on the rocks everyday, collecting stuff. Liked the scenery. Liked the sense of freedom (particularly from work I think).

Its taken a week to get back into the swing of regular life. Going back to work wasn't half as bad as I was imagining. Home is starting to feel a bit more homely. The boyfiend is upstairs asleep - I'm waiting for the gasman and my new shed (Dad bought it for me for my birthday last may)...