Cutting Through the Air.

A late afternoon storm finally cut through the sultry, dense and humid atmosphere of today. And it was humid. Perhaps not as we saw a year ago but tough going all the same. For a newish building our office is not the best for weather and atmospherics. The strange noise of windows automatically do not denote the temperature levels but the oxygen concentration. Add in the occasional stench of sewage that sometimes takes over it is not a nice place to work. But I was grateful for the storm.

My working life is a little less busy but no less tense. Retake exams are on and I'm trying to coax the final year students over the line. After this life gets very real for them. Many are not prepared for that. But is any generation of students really ready for reality? I certainly wasn't, I had breakdown. Work is work and must be done, an occupational hazard of life. In my crazy dream world of mental illness I thought getting a job would be the final piece of the recovery phenomenon. All these years later I'm not sure life is any easier.

That is done for the day. I'm home, it is opera night and mood-wise I'm okay. The last few days have been marred by lethargy, apathy and a complete lack of motivation. Is that a result of Sunday's anniversary? Or overdoing things in the glories of the opera? Who knows? But I feel a little more stable.

Driving home my instinct said fuck cooking and go out. I didn't. Rather I deconstructed a pork souvlaki serving it on a bed of salad laced with yoghurt and mint, dressed with chilli sauce and oven warmed pitta bread. It was a triumph. Mum always used to oven warm bread but used to leave it in so long it was rock solid. A swift five minutes at 180 degrees was fabulous. The pittas I can buy in supermarkets are awful as indeed are most commercially produce flat breads. Our brethren from north Africa and middle east would turn their noses up in disgust. And quite rightly so. But heat through and a little crispy they are infinitely better.

What the rest of the week brings me we will see. Sarah arrives back from Mexico early tomorrow morning. I've invited her for Sunday lunch, roast gammon. Might even do a starter too. With that I will leave you. Enjoy the sultry humid night, I think we need another storm.

I Heard a Voice.