Getting out of the house
It happens, sometimes!
26 June 2025
Wednesday afternoon, end of June. Amstelveen, The Netherlands
First of all, I painted this morning, after waking up too tired to write right away.
I’m sitting in my pajamas at 2:00 PM, writing on Zoom with a bunch of writers. My brain is made of cast iron. Yesterday was TOO MUCH for me. But also exhilarating. I was out and about – interacting with real people, IRL. I was at work. I was a part of a greater thing. Part of a community. I looked around at the people I’ve come to know for over 16 years. How we’ve all grown and changed. Bent with the winds of change. Again and again and again. Each new management has a new vision. Let’s change to the block system, let’s change to the semester system, let’s add more tests, let’s take them all away. And we adapt and comply. Resist and argue, then go with the new government-led changes. Part of me felt warm and relaxed in this familiar setting. Part of me was checking how fast I could get to the door. New management – new directions. It can be exhausting to go through all that once again.
Then my colleague L whisked me off in the drizzle to her house. It’s rare that I get to visit a colleague’s home. Dutch people tend to mingle at the bar, over a beer, rather than at home. But L has been consistently friendly, and I’ve always enjoyed spending time with her. I decided to go way out of my comfort zone and accept her invitation. Shall we go through the forest, it’s a long cut, but really nice, she asks me, after treating me to a pickled herring from the fish stand. We eat our herring as we walk and she tells me about moving back to her mother’s house, after her mother passed away a couple of years ago. About her stepfather, who lives now three doors down, about her father who died when she was only a little girl of a heart attack. And now her mother is dead too. The house remains. She painted the small house on the dike. She bought a beautiful new carpet and a sofa from the display (half price). The toilets are downstairs – duck under the low ceiling so you don’t bang your head, or upstairs near the bedroom. I thought it was cute, quaint, charming, and how I would suffer if I lived there! All those steep stairs. We managed to work for an hour. I delivered my stuff to my writing coach/editor. I entered my grades. I worked quickly and efficiently. Putting on the timer. Later, a different colleague said, “Oh yes, I use a timer too, because otherwise I spend too much time.” Oh my god. Too much time? I always struggle to spend enough time!!!
My Lululemon leggings arrived this morning in the mail, from the Hague. It took them almost a month to get here by post. Ordered via Vinted. Delivery was delayed - It couldn’t be delivered, but then it could. It feels like the person delivering my tiny package took a roundabout way – by foot – to get here. Or else they were on vacation. A special delivery service with one driver? It’s only an hour by car. But it took over three weeks to arrive. What’s the story of the traveling pants? We may never know. I wanted a pair of new leggings that won’t show the cat hairs. These are greyish, with a pattern that seems like someone spilled watercolor on them in splotches. Perfect for me! Of course, my ass hangs out in back, but that’s no fault of the leggings. Standing face on in front of the mirror, they look fine! I’m wearing them under my pajamas. Somehow they make me feel dressed. I angle the camera so the others can only see me from the neck up. Do they care what I’m wearing?
My phone is always on silent but somehow, while writing, I saw I had a missed call. Despite trying to be focused, I listened to the voicemail. It was from a good friend, so I wrote on a blue Post-It – call N. Then somehow, I found myself on Substack. Checking my stats. My post, hastily written, the day before, got 98 views. More than average. The subject matter? The timing?
Then I saw that Edgar Keret had written a new story. I read it. I had to reread the beginning. It confused me that he’d written from a woman’s perspective. That it wasn’t about him, but a story. Why was I confused? He’s a writer. He writes stories. Only I write creative non-fiction essays on Substack. He’s writes short stories. I think it’s the shell shock. I don’t know why I should be shell-shocked, when I wasn’t sitting in any bomb shelters these past 12 days. But I woke up with a stiff jaw. Heavy head, exhausted. Was it from going out yesterday, or from the two weeks keeping myself strong for my family – as they sheltered from the missiles? A sort of post trauma by association. Is that a thing?
After visiting L, we joined our Faculty BBQ. Despite the budget cuts, they decided to reward us with a get-together before the summer break. We sat outside, in the wind. I had the first glass of wine I’ve had in a month, since I got an awful summer cold, and the combination of alcohol, wind, chilly weather, and not wearing a jacket led me to a tickled cough that I kept up for most of the three hours we were there. Perhaps it was all the talking I did, too. Lots of conversations. Much more than I’m used to. Usually I’m at home, behind the computer, like now, interacting at most with the other writers on the London Writers Salon for 15 minutes once a week. Or with my husband. We update each other on our day-to-day, and when we’ll need the car.
“Is it okay if I take the car to Gornichem?” He asked me yesterday, when I got home at 11:00 pm from the BBQ.
“Yes, I suppose so,” I said.
“It would be really useful, because otherwise it’s 2 hours by public transportation.”
“Yes, I don’t need it,” I said, thinking – where would I go, anyway? I can bike to the gym, if I can make the time to go. I can take a walk. I have nothing planned but a workout with my mom in the afternoon over Zoom. It’s my day off, after two full days at work.
“Who’d think that both of us would visit Gornichem in one week?” he asked me.
“Quite the coincidence.” I answered.
I’m going to go pack for the Jericho Writers’ Festival in London this weekend! Again – I’m leaving the house. Wish me luck!
I enjoyed this slice of your day.
Enjoy the festival!