Don't take your rage out on fruit

A PSA from me to me

A collage I made when I was supposed to be packing.

Last week, I told you I was moving back to Montreal. I also said that if you didn’t hear from me this week, it was because I’m having a meltdown. I woke up this morning in a very bad mood and threw a half-eaten apple on the floor. It was meant for the bin, and despite me throwing said apple with the conviction of an MLB pitcher, the apple, symbol of my rage, smashed to smithereens.

As I knelt down on the kitchen floor with paper towel to clean up my mess, I thought no. This is why you must write. Don’t take it out on the fruit. They did nothing to you.

Whenever I’m feeling mad, overwhelmed, lonely or low, the cure is always self-expression. And movement. Those two things are the pillars of my sanity. I’ve barely written two hundred words and I already feel better! Plus, I’m sitting outside and the weather is perfect: 21 degrees Celsius, partly cloudy, an ideal jean jacket situation. A little robin appeared in the distance between two bushes. The wind is blowing softly in my hair, and the moment would be perfect if it weren’t for a bunch of dogs yapping in the most unpleasant way.

Everything is temporary: barking, beauty, meltdowns.

This is my dispatch to you this week. It’s short (and sweet?) because I have to finish packing up my flat. There is furniture to be sold, more meltdowns to come, last minute errands to run (bubble wrap + Scottish shortbread), things to let go of, and they’re not just material.

I’m leaving the UK in a couple of days so next time you hear from me, I’ll be in Montreal.

Take good care and talk soon.