It's 11:15am and I have risen from bed; my brushed teeth and I are ready to write. The weather is changing. I can feel it, the forecast says it, and so, too, do the olive leaves outside my window, signalling something with their stillness.
There's a reason for my unreasonably late rousing this morning. It's been a funny old week.
I had a work promotion confirmed and noted the congratulations and conspicuous lacks of congratulations with interest. I joyfully congratulated a friend on her engagement, realising that with it comes the arrival of a new chapter in her story. Time will tell if there's room for me in it. I created a profile on a dating app, allowing myself ten minutes a day to scroll through the (lacklustre) prospects. I have already spotted two men I know on there, one with his shirt off, confirming my previously-established suspicions about his unsuitability for me.
The week ended with an ebullient Diwali celebration at my school. Students and staff alike wore their finest lehengas and saris and jewellery. I began my attempts to tie my own sari at 6, finally making it out of the house at 7:30, pleats intact and eyelids covered in gold. We sat through two assemblies (the dance-based one more exciting than the other) and no-one was happier that me to hear the bell ring at 3.
I arrived home, exhausted and ready to put my feet up, to a note from a ghost. I didn't recognise it as such at first, thinking it was my flatmate who had left a pink post-it attached to a block of chocolate by my door. But no, it was the ghost, passing through, asking if I'd like to catch up for dinner on Monday. It would mean a great deal, the ghost wrote, to connect.
How to respond to a ghost? Do I say yes to dinner? Propose an alternative? Politely inform the ghost that I'm no longer interested in these visits from the other side?
I have been to dinner with a ghost once, almost five years ago. After abruptly and unceremoniously dropping me as a friend, my first ghost reached out a year later to ask if I wanted to have dinner. I did, a little, so I said yes. Dinner with the ghost consisted of chit-chat, interrogations about my love life and, close to the summation of the dinner, being informed that my eyebrows were uneven to the point that the ghost had been able to concentrate on little else during our time together. All contact with the ghost ceased until a year later, again, when I received an invitation to a wedding in the mail.
The thing I recall with a great stabbing pain is that I discussed this invitation from the first ghost with my newest one. "Why would she invite me to the wedding? She's wanted nothing to do with me for all this time, why now?" Ghost No. 2 understood Ghost No. 1's logic. Weddings are a time where people get reflective and think about the people who have influenced them. Ghost No. 1 was remembering me in a positive light, Ghost. No. 2 said, the light in which I should have been seen all along. "You are gold," said Ghost No. 2. Apparently not, I thought at the time. Two years later, it would appear Ghost. No. 2 agrees with me.
All of this was enough to send me to bed with sushi and a queue of Bunheads episodes last night. It kept me in bed this morning, too. I still don't know how to respond to the ghost. Perhaps one ghostly dinner is enough for a lifetime. Perhaps accepting a dinner invitation will allow the ghost to change form.
I shall continue mulling these things during and after my shower, but before I go, a few notes from the week.
Reading: In an attempt to slow down my reading life and not consume books at too voracious a rate, I have set myself the challenge of reading only ONE fiction or non-fiction book per week (theological/spiritual books are exempted, because I usually finish these at a slower pace). My book last week was You Need a Budget - much needed, but not enough to sustain my interest for a week. My choice this week was infinitely better on the interest and, let's be honest, fun front - White Teeth by Zadie Smith. Oh Zadie. I cannot believe she was TWENTY-FIVE when this amazing novel was published. I'm not fussed about not being a wunderkind myself, but I certainly appreciate them when I come across them, particularly if they're providing me with engrossing, astute and wildly funny novels. I am loving Zadie Smith's London and its characters and shall be returning to them this afternoon.
Watching: CSI. Have you ever seen CSI? It is ridiculous and poorly-lit and impossible in so many ways, but it has been exactly what I've needed this week. Brains scattered all over a room and blood congealed in a corner? No problem - the CSIs are on it. The seedy Las Vegas setting makes for a great backdrop and the formulaic storylines have proved to be the balm of Gilead I needed this week. Plus, as with all long-running procedurals, there are some great guest stars. Mae Whitman! A pre-Office John Krasinski! That guy from Friday Night Lights! It's a guaranteed good time.
Listening to: a great new-to-me podcast called Spilled Milk in which the two hosts take a deep dive into something food-related. Last week it was carob. The week before it was monkey bread (google it). Their enthusiasm and inevitable unearthing of something fascinating makes for delightful listening and much food-related googling. Look it up!
