Inn-demand

I

It was a typical autumnal day, windy weather and bright hopes...

Nina scrubbed a vase. A polished, china, glazed with wet blue marks skidding along its sides , ready for some beautiful lilies and sunflowers to greet the morning light 

It was cold, but Nina was bound to feel that way. She continued reflecting on the day she embraced the idea of converting her family house in the mountains to a lovely inn for the people. It was a breezy, light autumnal day that day and believe it or not, Nina was close to losing her almost, well mostly cynical approach toward an idea such as running an inn.

Business is not her blood or keep. She knew that.
A longer process had resigned her to an idea, that if she was right, this might be her dream come true.

So it was that Nina scrubbed the vase.

Years had passed since the day, time had helped her replace, repair, help, pay, work, and after arrangements had been made for the more homely fixtures of the house,  she had settled in.

Today is Nina's four month work anniversary.

She feels tired, almost too alone to be running around. A comfy comforter and warm chair can only keep one company so long. Nina is not from the mountainside, and her lack of intimacy with the locals was both a relief and a hindrance .

Security aside, there is only so much a person can do to keep shop before retiring to the idea that maybe, just maybe... Nina shudders. To think of it, was to become absent from the reality and daydream about non existent futures, an absolute no considering her past diagnosis.

Regardless, it was time she found a hobby now that most of the decorative and aesthetic work on the house to inn was done.

Nina sighs. Slipping into memories of her homeland in the plains and of joys and despairs of city life carry her through an eerie stillness that curves around the peaks of the valley. Her choices made her reach here, this was a safe space and her cluttered thoughts of city life, lamps, lights, music and drunken nights allured her, almost as if she could recreate the music and her remembrance of the feeling of joy in this converted house.

Tears came to eyes but they were now coming fast and often enough that Nina knew her attempts to convince herself that crying is "bad" were ... misguided. Tears were a complex mystery and their existence reminded her she was human. Sometimes it felt like she wasn't there. Tears made her present to her own self. That she is real, her life is real, the experience and her thoughts were not on film, but they are hers, and she is them, it is her life to make sense of and this realization breaks new tears from Nina's eyes.

Life is overwhelming. Nina certainly felt so.
It is a weight to believe one thing or another.

Her age? We'll get to that.