Friday, August 29, 2014

Home bitter home

I straightened my hair to perfection and put on Dior pale pink on my lips, before gliding into my heeled Tory burch boots. The elevator ride down from 5th gave me just enough time to put in my earphones and turn on a slow beat playlist. Just high enough volume to keep out the reality of Swedish everyday street noises but still low enough to navigate the crosswalks safely. I didn't want to risk anything: my life in traffic OR accidentally listening to Swedish.

I had been back in Stockholm for less than 48 hours before I ventured down that spiral leading to the big black hole that's so hard to get out from. The combination of leaving Zoe with her dad and attending a meeting that illustrated the incompetences within my department all too well just added to the trauma of being back. My friend, whom I confided in over text, tried to make a joke out of it, suggesting I should have a bottle of port in my office drawer. But I had not even managed to get out of the house or even get out of my pajamas, I was still lying face down on my sofa trying to make sense of it all. I was suppose to be happy with things. I have friends here. Except none that I could summon other than to joke with me.

At 4 I was sitting by my computer and had actually sent two emails. The phone rang and Zoe's dad apologized for forgetting that daycare closed early that day. Could I go pick her up?

Zoe was ecstatic to see me and kept saying "my wish came true! I wished mommy would pick me up today!". We went for tea and croissants at our usual bakery where her dad picked her up 45 minutes later to her screaming and crying. "I want mommy, I want mommy". I shed another tear on the way home but managed to work for another 3 hours before going to bed. Next morning I woke up to a grey sense of determinism that I'll get through this.

Welcome home Louise. 

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