I’ve woken up in my hotel in Rotorua. My go to place in New Zealand for a break. I opted against a Bach this time. I needed the warmth and services offered by a hotel. I don’t regret my decision, especially arriving in a wet and cold night, but I’d forgotten about the all night doors banging and voices chatting down the corridor all hours of the night. Still, it’s a trade off to be in the city and and not worry about grocery shopping and starting log fires to get warm. Considering how tired and drained I am.
I flew to Auckland first and rented a car and drove down, stopping in Cambridge, Waikato for a while. Cambridge is a beautiful town, holding its colonial feel. I hadn’t been for a long time. It felt nice to stroll around. The rain held off long enough. Usually I’m in such a hurry getting to places. But not this time.
The hour’s drive to Rotorua wasn’t overly pleasant. The rain and fog made driving conditions hard. There were already a few accidents along the way. I was so happy to see the lights of the city ahead. I can drive around the city with such ease. I know it as though it’s my own city.
As soon I got into my room I proceeded to unpack and put everything in its place! Clothes hung, shoes away, the desk cleared. I like neatness and no clutter. I ordered room service and was pleased to catch Platoon playing on TV, one of my favourite movies.
Starfished on the bed. Surrounded by pillows, warm and cosy. A nice cup of tea.
I miss the children. Not sure how I will manage a longer trip to Cambodia.
I slept in and will probably have an easy day with a stroll around the lake if the rain holds off.
I want to try and not think for at least today. Yesterday I was busy travelling. And today I’m feeling tired and keen to stretch my body.
I can’t believe how much has happened in the last couple of weeks. The challenges to my life, the updates, the things I need to face and work through.
Perhaps one of things I have garnered peace from is that I am on this journey both figuratively and literally and the offender is forced to make his journey at home. Facing his guilt and shame in the walls of his house. How ironic that he has become trapped by his own actions? I will also be trapped of course, but at least I have these periods where I can experience the beauty of the sun shining in Cambridge, the cultural heritage displayed proudly in Rotorua and the inviting warmth of a hotel lit up after a long, cold wet drive.
As for my marriage, only time will tell how that journey will go. Sometimes, like when I when I left yesterday I think it’s hopeful, but by evening the arguments began via text and he called me a ‘shithead.’ And I wonder, do I know you? Do you understand me? Do you know what I’m feeling? How I’m haunted every minute of the day? How hard things are? How I just need a few days break to be able to function again, to pretend that i am a normal woman without all of these issues?
It’s just a week and then he’s away with his friends and he can feel young and single again without the marital pressures. Where he is probably at his happiest.
I am going to enjoy my few days. I don’t want to feel any sadness, pain, bitterness or anger. I just want to find a comfy spot and read. I want to feel that I am safe, that I am a tiny piece in this big world. I want to be as remarkable as a pot plant, as interesting as a dining chair. And to feel as much as a wall behind me.
This weekend I’m merely a room number.