Friday was one of those days. Crying in front of the mechanic when he lists all the expensive issues my new old car has. Working a job I’m enjoying less by the day, only in it for the money, which is then flushed down the drain straight to the car that won't start. Crying in the bathtub as relationship talk brought up dreams of different futures. Big differences, like one with and one without babies. Crying in the phone as my boss calls to ask where the hell I am, just as I’m getting ready to go out to an afrobeat gig. Miscommunication next level.
I needed that dance. Badly. Kicking off shoes, eyes closed, letting the music take the space the tears cleared. Healing powers of live music, always my number one medicine. I meet amazing artists, feel light and inspired, float back home where friends stay over. We talk till late and my love has a sparkle in his eyes.
I wake up in the middle of the night. Night shifts do that to you. Wide awake at 2 am and all I can think about is the book I’m reading. So deep in the story it's all I dream about these days. I long to dive back in, let the silence of the night wrap around me until hours later I rise from a satisfied reading stint. But I can’t find the book anywhere. It takes me an hour to look all over the quiet sleepy house.
I give up and go to sleep. Dreaming of tomorrow, a better day. A spontaneous road trip to the beach where we camp for the night. Vans full of friends, we’re 18 again. Drinking singing talking loud louder than the waves in the dark. A beautiful coastal walk to the farmers market in the morning. Looking for the perfect waves, we hit the road. Surfboards itching to get out into the water. We find an old cafe right on the beach, classic Belgian coast style with pancakes and way too much whipped cream on every hot beverage. Oldies dressed in Sunday best, radio playing, all facing the ocean. A table filled with red-cheeked friends reading books with one eye only, the other eye always on the surf.