‘saturday afternoon light in the greenhouses with caro.’
i’ve been wondering if my life is boring if i come home and just make a stir fry and put away my washing and go to bed. is my idea of a happy sunday weeding/washing/meal prepping mundane? or is mundanity at home a safe haven from which we can grow in the outer parts of our lives? i’m glad there are havens nearby like the botanic gardens where i can put my roots down too. • i don’t enjoy feeling unable to actualise the things i want but it’s nice to have clean jumpers and lunches for the week at least. mundanity can be oppressive but comforting, and lonely but quietly triumphant. (i will not let the fear of normality conquer me)
