Last week was a funny one. The best way to explain the realm I was moving in is: jetlagged or in limbo between dream and reality, festival, work and sleep. Yes, something like that. I went to a festival in Benidorm called Funtastic Dracula Carnival where I danced my ass off for an entire weekend. That place is a whole different planet by itself. When I came home Sunday afternoon I slept 12 hours straight and walked into work feeling fresh. (For the people asking: I work as a chef now, in a new and funky cafe in the old center of Valencia.)
On Monday I rolled into the kitchen full of energy and needed every little bit of it because holy moly all of a sudden Monday is the day people go out for breakfast en masse?! Tuesday got even busier and by Wednesday I was in bed as soon as I arrived home in the afternoon, for a siesta that would last until the next morning. The after crazy dancing festival crash had arrived. And with it: a strange perception of reality.
My dreams were more vivid than ever, in and out of sleep, wide awake in the middle of the night. In the early hours of morning I started reading my book, shuffling to the kitchen for chocolate and fruit to eat in bed under the covers. Then this thought came to my mind of how many times we might have crossed paths before with people who were once strangers and who are now so special to us. How the people we hold close have come to us for a reason, to make us feel that we belong, so we can come home here.
Whatever, strange nighttime contemplations.
As autumn is dawning on the city and I hide under layers of velvet and other soft fabrics to embody the cosiness of the season, I naturally want to retreat inwards. To allow space for the mind to wander, plucking at the strings of darkness. I haven’t even taken the time to recover mentally and physically from the festival. I have been too tired to find a portal for daydreaming, for intentionally meditating on what just happened and what is going on inside and outside of myself.
The melancholy of a grey city influences me. The stillness when I walk to work in the dark morning, the sliver of moon making it seem daytime is still far away. Leaving the busy kitchen for fluffy blankets, weaving a pattern of little snippets of deep joy and cosiness into the mundane. Sweet visits, growing friendships, cosy bars at night, all Sunday in bed with my love to dream the week away. Eyes shut legs coiled around each other blinds closed until sunset.
Don’t mind us enjoying the Valencian rainstorms from my bed. Windows open, lightening flashing the room, thunder keeping me up and the soothing sound of drops on the balcony. I crawled closer to my love and we got all giddy and excited, like kids in a blanket fort, safe and dry while outside it’s pouring down.
A delicious weekend dream of coffee in bed as evening falls, going out for breakfast when others get ready for dinner. A concert in a bar snug and warm like granny’s living room. The city was coloured grey and the rain painted extra layers of wetness. No better feeling than to be cosy inside while outside welcomes autumn, better late than never.
I know this weather is not very common here, that’s why I savour it so. The sun always winking me to go out and play, while my inner granny secretly loves autumn days indoors. Taking it slow, only leaving my bed to go to the kitchen and cook a hearty meal, write a letter, flip the record.