Alone

two - snorkeling isn't a date

two - snorkeling isn't a date

The Sunday morning air lingers around my body, causing me to awaken from my deep slumber. It has been over a week since I left home. My phone has been bombarded with missed calls and concerned messages from my mother. I even think she has got my dad involved. But what can he do? He's over 1000 miles away, working on a mine for a company I can't even pronounce the name of.

I couldn't be bothered to check the phone when it went off anymore, so I turned it to silent a couple of days ago and haven't checked it since. It's comforting to not have to rely on the constant buzzing and the hope that maybe I was wanted or needed. Instead, I've really been able to do things, see things that I wouldn't have been able to do before.

It's almost as if I'm becoming a new person. I shouldn't think such ludicrous thoughts when it's only been a week. And I've only just woken up, my head is most likely scrambled and in a state of confusion. I'll have more sense in a couple of hours.

I toss my feet over the edge of the bed, whacking my heels into something hard, and having to remind myself it isn't as big in this caravan as it was in my house. The edge of my pyjama strap has come loose and I adjust before sorting through my bags and attempting to organise them in some way. It doesn't last long, and I end up tossing some stuff in the corner next to the bed, hoping to forget about them.

My breath creates clouds of smoke before me, the air being so cold that I wrap myself within my sheets for a couple of minutes. Once my fatigue is over, I open some of the storage drawers and shuffle my way through tinned food and what looks like a half-eaten muffin. I pull it out and take a bite into it. Nothing tastes the same as it used to.

That'll be my breakfast for the day.

I set a kettle, that I found under the counter, on the stove top, waiting for it to boil. The minutes pass by achingly. Everything feels so different. Having to do everything for myself. Having to remind myself about all the little things. Checking if I'm going to survive on my small budget wrapped in a credit card.

But this is all I have for now. And frankly, a tiny caravan, my car, some clothes I stuffed into a shopping bag, and food that doesn't even satisfy my hunger, is a little overwhelming.

So to keep my mind off all these voices and thoughts inside my mind, I decide to drive. After sipping slowly at my green tea that erred more on the luke-warm side than hot, I change into a set of clean clothes, pack everything up again and drive.

It is peaceful, having the wind against my face, entering through the half-agar window. It's funny how fast time passes by as I drive along the shore line, watching the tide go back and forth, just how I used too. The radio blaring through the speakers with unfamiliar songs. The drive doesn't last as long as I'd want before I reach a gas station and need to top up the fuel in my car. Petrol is at an all-time high this summer and it's almost like a sign that I shouldn't continue what I'm doing.

But what I really want to know first is - what am I doing?

I've tried asking myself this question numerous times but can't quite focus, or truthfully not want to, and now is just the same.