With The Oils And Perfumes And The Incense

From my desk where I sit I can see a lop-sided rectangle of sky. It is a big window and quite light and airy, and I have become oddly fond of this little piece of sky. When I have been sitting here in winter I have looked at the patch and watched it become steeped in darkness, gazing on the first moments of the imminent night. In the summer it is bright from when I first sit down until I stand to leave.

It is strange to think that, soon, this piece of sky will belong to someone else. I shall not miss it, but I shall nevertheless recall it fondly. Such a lot has happened in the time that has passed while I have been sitting here. I imagine some film sequence in which I sit still and the seasons circle me like a fairground ride, light and dark merging into one another. Things have changed while I have been dreaming myself out of the window.

Today the rectangle is blue. Clean, azure blue. It is my favourite sort of day. The sky is rich and blue, the wind is sharp and the air is tinged with the anticipation of winter. The sort of day that calls for sunglasses and a scarf.

I am going to Eastbourne later on. Working tonight and tomorrow morning so that I can come back tomorrow afternoon in time to get ready for a night out. It is Sam's party in Hoxton for his birthday, and then very close by three other friends are jointly celebrating their birthdays. I plan to get back home tomorrow afternoon and get ready in a leisurely manner. Have a luxurious bath with stuff in it (I will deem the bath a success if I manage not to drop my book in the water), moisturise myself into heady, hydrated bliss, dry my hair carefully and take ages over my make up. The effect produced, of course, will look exactly as it would if I'd taken ten minutes, but I will feel a million times better. I decided what I was going to wear on Saturday three days ago, because the idea of taking ages to get ready and then putting on a carefully-pre-selected outfit is utterly delicious. I will maybe pour myself a glass of wine to have while I'm pampering myself. I am going to have new shoes, as well. The are satin peeptoe heels, colour raspberry. How extraordinarily decadent. I saw them and I fell in love with them, I even bought some matching lipstick in anticipation of owning them.

The flat that Bec, David and I have inhabited since January has been let. On the fifteenth of November we will have left. My room, with the bright pink curtains and view of the train track ten metres away will belong to someone else. The mice will torture other people.

Soon the two constants of work and flat will no longer be my constants. I have split these things and shared them around strangers who I have never met. I am moving on. I cannot really imagine what it will be like not to come to this place everyday and not to return to that place at the end of it. I know I am doing positive things, and I feel very happy about it, but so many changes are being crammed in to one period of time.

I think this is why I feel such a very strong urge to take some time for myself on Saturday afternoon. I want to relax, to get used to things as they move, and to remind myself that, although things around me are changing, I am not. I will always be someone who regularly drops books in the bath, and who loves moisturiser to the point of distraction. I know that a pair of special shoes will always make me feel special, whether I am a singer or a receptionist.

For now I am watching the clouds scud softly across the corner of my rectangle and committing it to memory. I think that perhaps I will miss it slightly. I know that there will be other pieces of sky I will find, perhaps bluer and wider with fewer clouds and more possiblities, but I also know that I will always hold a place in my heart for this one.