I’m tired and distracted. I’ll do anything not to sit down and write although it’s the only thing I desire to do.
What am I going to say? What am I going to write?
But the most important question of all is still what am I trying to avoid? Once I have asked myself that I suddenly come up with a lot of answers. Feelings. Anger. Anger about not having done anything. About ruining the day before it even has begun.
But I need to write. Of all my needs and wants it’s the strongest one these last few days. It’s August in the south of Sweden and unusually hot; 25 degrees and not a cloud in the sky. Or at least I think it’s unusual. I don’t know anymore.
I just know that people in Sweden take July off and that in August everything is back to normal. School, work, routines. Summer has officially ended and the tourists I see buying coffee and icecream on Österlen are Dutch, German and Danish.
And I’m sad for some reason. I feel melancholic. I don’t want summer to end. I don’t want the summer in my grandfather’s house to end.
I don’t want to leave my flower pots just to find them withered away in December in the humid and grey winter in the south of Sweden. I want to be in the comfort of the late 19th century cottage my grandfather bought in the early 90s.
I want my grandfather to go with me everywhere I go although he died more than 25 years ago.
My Maddy Travel 