Three days ago I woke up at 5:30 am. It was my second day of less than 5 hours sleep and I found myself scratched by a familiar sensation. My thoughts scattered about, colliding. I could not return to sleep. Nor could I bring myself to open my eyes. I bunched the sheets in my fist and felt the wave break across the bedstead and engulf me: misery.
For two days I have been a chain hotel in Bristol surrounded by my temporary kin. I know that, within the hour, they will all be found together at breakfast. Each of them will be guiltily finishing a plate of bacon that was cooked much earlier and left to warm under serving lamp. They will be exhausted from the effort of kidding themselves and the strain of holding on to hope. They hope that by taking an apple from the breakfast buffet they will fend off the heart attack that their waxing obesity is foreshadowing. They hope that not putting on their ties will somehow allow them to forget they will soon resume work. They hope that by appearing engrossed in a book or newspaper others will not notice that they are alone: or that they will not notice it themselves. They hope that the midnight call to their wives will dull the ache of missing them rather than sharpen it. They hope to get the deal, make the sale, move up, get on and acquire seven habits that will mark the out as highly effective people.On their bedside table are pulpy books written by Americans with middle initials which promise to help them plumb, harness, focus and otherwise leverage their inner warrior/conciliator/facilitor or artist.
My misery is loneliness. To be away from P, sat in my underwear at 3 am typing out paragraphs of law at the cramped piece of MDF that passes for a desk, pulls the joy from my life in a single, shin-cracking, explosive decompression. I love her and the breezy and insincere bonhomie of the reception clerk is no compensation for the the mood that missing her conjures.
The case over, its a trip back home through the disintegrating chaos of our glorious transport system. As I arrive home the sky is pink and hatched with orange clouds. I open the gate and find my niece and nephew running in the garden chasing a football. Little Sam sees me and shouts “Uncle Moobs, we are all in the garden having fun!” He promptly trips onto his face and gets up laughing. My heart is full again.
welcome home x
Next time you’re in Bristol, stay in Bath…I happen to know some really classy accommodation – but I ain’t cooking bacon for anybody!
excellent stuff –
Hey wait a minute! I have a middle initial! Don’t you??? Gosh that’s like a belly button here. Hrm…. I’m of course only interested in leveraging my inner verve… uh… rock star… or… I know my inner middle initial! 🙂
I hate that you were miserable but love that you have home, love and P. How’s the trip going?
You’ve struck a chord; the misery of loneliness is a horrid burden I’ve carried for much of the last 12 months.
Does the condition bring forward an emotional version of absence making the heart grow fonder?
Best wishes.
Glad you are home where you belong. 🙂
You so very well capture the feel of this particular loneliness. I always feel as if I’m moving through very thin air and as if my surroundings were really movie studio facades, totally without substance.
How wonderful to have a garden full of happy kiddos to welcome you back.
Welcome home, Moobs! No homesickness like that of being away while doing work … I’m the worst homesick gypsy on the planet. Haven’t yet figured out how all that plays together.
🙂
Rachael
Lovely, Mr M ….
how beautifully and accurately put. The loneliness that is greater than merely the absence of someone.
Also, I’ve now seen you in your pants (well, in my mind’s eye, anyway). Glad you’re back with P.
Exceptionally eloquent as usual.
I have a 3 business trips coming up in the next 2 months and I’m dreading them. I’m also going to Rome with my brother and parents…which could be wonderful or frightening. The jury’s way out on that one.
Well put…makes me thank god I never pursued a ‘business’ career although I did for a few years do PR and had to stay in godawful hotels like the one you mention. Glad you are in a happier place right now in the USA but isn’t the weather a bit too hot for you to handle??
Oh, this was beautiful. xx
Oh, Dorothy. There’s no place like home.
That was beautiful. Not the loneliness, of course; the warm happiness of coming home. You captured both, Mr Moobs.
i miss you moobs. i wish you’d made it all the way out west. must i turn 40 to meet you?
alas
Damn. That was beautiful.
At some point, a job is a job is a job even if it is “a calling” when there are moments like these when there seems to be something more important and wonderful waiting for us somewhere else. You’ve captured that feeling of middle-of-nowhere moment perfectly.
I loved this. Remind me why you don’t have a book I can buy?
Aww, and having met P now, I’m not surprised.