After two months of one-after-the-other bugs and lurgies which had each of us (but mainly me) feeling crap with a capital F, I was feeling pretty proud of myself that I'd not succumbed to the emotional depro which usually accompanies long illnesses.
I was weathering it all quite well. My own illness, the kids ongoing coughs and wheezes, the truckloads of time we were all spending home together, this just mere weeks ahead of the long school holidays ...
I was putting lots of work into being okay with it all, but succeeding well, I thought, until someone on facebook mentioned they were going to Arniston for the weekend (small idyllic seaside village ofter incorrectly credited as being the Southern Most Tip of Africa - it's not) and someone else commented that Arniston was their 'happy place'.
Ping! Light bulb. I need a happy place.
I put it out there on facebook and got some great suggestions. Lynne recommended I look for that place within, find somewhere I can retreat to no matter the chaos. Problem is, often the chaos is within, and sometimes I think I spend too much time in my own head as it is.
No, I needed to look further afield.
I know my happiest place is away, out of town, preferably camping. I had this reconfirmed on a recent weekend away.
As soon as we got over (or in this case through) the mountains encircling the Cape Peninsula, and off the main drag, the scent of heat and dust and fynbos filled the car and my heart, it just sang.
I could feel it belting away in my chest.
But that was too far afield. I can't - alas - go camping every time I'm in need of some time out.
I needed something close to home, but not so close it resembled my navel and any absorbed contemplation thereof.
One evening I struck gold.
iPod + NIN + paper stash + inspiration = happy place!
Dear god, I think I'm starting to get why scrap-bookers scrap. Scrap to shut out the crap? I think it's a real thing.
Oh and if you're interested, I've posted an update on atheism with pictures? - the child is truly diabolical.