It's 8:01 Saturday morning and it's been a bit over half-an-hour since my lovely friends Clara and Nico left. So far I've washed some dishes, started some packing, fed the cat, discovered a big cut on my right foot.
But now, before I commence with moving all my stuff downstairs (my landlord recently decided to let my flat to a German woman and has decided that I have to move)... I'm going to indulge myself and give in to the sadness and the slow-moving violin accompaniment in my head.
Last night the three of us had a last hurrah at Frank's bar, with cocktails, a bottle of wine, and some beouf bouignon, just like France. This morning, I sent them off with coffee, omlettes and potatoes to Siem Reap. And now I'm sitting in my half-emptied house alone, contemplating what to do with myself this weekend, this month, and in life.
Being by myself generally suits me just fine. I must have a limited store of social energy and all my solitary time lets me bottle it up in reserve for times when I need to be at my scintillating best. But having just come off of a three-week tour with Jaime, a flurry of merry-making with my new French friends, and ten exhilarating days hiking, biking, and generally living it up with my own family, this sudden isolation is startling and sad.
Sure, all good things must come to an end, but why must they all end at once and so abruptly?
(on a random note, the folks at the Expat Women Blog Directory asked me to submit my blog to their site. It's weird to consider myself an "expat" still. For some reason it conjures up images of old white men with Cambodian girlfriends. But anyway...)