I'm not one for rituals, or routine.
I have my morning routine- up at 6:45am, kettle on, shower, make tea, music on, clothes on, sip tea while blow drying my hair, make up on, work snacks gathered, and out of the door by 7:40am (to be at my desk for 8am- yes, I'm that person). But aside from that? I like to take days at face value, to enjoy them independently, individually, for precisely what they are.
A new opportunity.
But recently, M and I have slipped into a funny sort of routine.
Conflicting diaries and the kind of time consuming dramas and issues which make you realise holy hell I actually am an adult (that is to say, house sales and job interviews and meetings with lawyers and meetings at all hours of the day and the like) have meant that lately, we haven't been able to see quite as much of each other as we might have liked.
But somehow, Sunday has become our day.
We don't necessarily do the same things each time- in fact, we've never done the same thing twice. But Sunday is a day where we do our best to make time for each other.
Chopping wood by hand and building campfires. Teasing each other. Long walks through Richmond Park to peek through the telescope at King Henry's Mound. Buying fancy teas. Or even just a stolen half an hour, hidden away in a stairwell to keep out of sight of prying eyes.
(Life is complicated)
But life is what it is, and for those hours on a Sunday, none of the dramas or difficulties or complications seem to matter. Technology and tiredness and complexity gets put to one side and we are just... us.