April 14, 2024

Warning alert. I feel like this one is going to ramble a little more than usual.

It’s 9pm on Sunday and I still haven’t written my blog. I usually like to be screens off by 10pm.

I’ve arrived home brimming with possible ideas to explore and yet feel I’ll have no time tonight to resolve any of them and do them justice. I usually write in multiple sessions. One to explore ideas, and another to refine.

No time for that tonight.

I didn’t expect to be busy at all this weekend, what with all the friends who left town in the last seven days. Even more people departed than I expected. Another decided they just needed a break, and disappeared back off to Sweden on Friday night.

The people are transient here. I guess that’s what happens when half the people you know live in tiny houses on wheels with diesel powered engines.

And yet, despite that, I’ve had a more active social life than ever. Friday night drinks. Trips to a lake. Dinner in town. Strolls in the sun. Sunday evenings apéros. I barely had time to think.

As someone who’s always thought of myself an introvert, you’d think this wasn’t ideal.

I really need time alone to recharge.

In fact, I thought that very thought to myself at 6:35pm this evening as I was waiting for a friend in the town square. The aforementioned Apéro. In front of the spectacular views of the Mont Blanc Massif.

An apéro is a very Français thing to do. To be honest, I’m still trying to work out what it actually is. I’m pretty sure it’s just a fancy name for going for a drink, but it does seems to be somewhat vaguely related to snacking as well. The perfect combo really. Tonight there were no snack, only a cider and a spritz, and it’s not important for the story anyway.

So like I was saying, and introvert (me) was standing by the river waiting for a friend.

Waiting quite a while in fact, because my friend runs on Indonesian style time.

They lived in a remote island community on and off for ten years. The things she’s experienced are absolutely wild. At least to a boy who grew up in a well-off white suburb of London, England. And probably to anyone else who hasn’t seen their friends dog have its head machete-d clean off. I’ll save that story for another time though.

So, standing by the river, having been in social groups for most of my weekend, I was feeling pretty exhausted.

Why did I agreed to go out? I wondered to myself. I should have been at home, alone, recuperating.

I wouldn’t even be good company because I’m tired.

But there I was.

And there she was, waving from across the courtyard.