Coming back to work after a wonderful week away (more on that later) is a dose of reality I'm not all that fond of. I spent most of yesterday nursing a massive headache and crying inwardly about being back in my cube, staring at a computer, sitting in an uncomfortable chair with coworker gossip rattling in my brain. I wanted the loons, the open water, the peaceful quiet of the North.
Today I woke up and knew I was in for another depressing day if I didn't take matters into my own hands.
So I put on a favorite dress.
And those acorn buttons that Mom helped me convert into earrings.
And my red shoes.
And I went out into the garden as the sun was just coming up and everything was still covered in a layer of dew, and I harvested all sorts of things to bring in for my gossiping - but lovely - coworkers. Eggplant, grapes, melon, cabbage, kale, chard, and flowers.
And I brought the bag of homegrown treats with me on the bus, where it sat by my feet as I read The Illustrated Man by Ray Bradbury. The story I read was about a man who goes to Mars and then returns to Earth to realize how different it feels. Did he remember it incorrectly or did his new experience change it somehow, forever? I was struck by how the experience of leaving your life - even briefly - and returning to it is the same in this world as it is in a sci-fi story. In both cases we feel a little ungrounded when we return, the place we've just been quickly becoming distant memory despite our desperate grasping, and it's the little glimmers of happiness that are necessary for survival.