I can't leave this place, not yet. 
I'm always in such a hurry to move on to the next phase of my life - wherever, whatever - that sometimes I forget to stop and look around, enjoy myself a little.
Feeling a bit flat after work last night (mopping the filthy floors at the end of a busy but unrewarding day) I went to meet F and his crazy Argentine colleague for a half pint or two - which swiftly became three, four, five; translating between his Argentine and my Castilian Spanish via F's Italian and some pretty idiosyncratic English, getting 'merrier' by the minute...  Before I knew it we were downstairs at the Banana Store, a place I've never understood but am coming to appreciate, like some kind of performance art.  The owner (drunk) practically mugged us into sitting down to eat - it was free.  They laid a table for two with candles and announced that there was going to be some romance in the place; apart from us, there was a table with a random assortment of people from the market, in various stages of inebriation, and some usual suspects propping up the bar.  We had the same dish for starter and main course.  At some point more people rolled in - a tall, wonderfully foul-mouthed Scouser with a hat and cane whose name I couldn't remember, with a bit of banter for everyone; he joined the market table and sat in the corner announcing "fuck me!  I've just had a text message from the queen! 'are you being served yet?' where's me fucking dinner?"  At the end of the meal (and the bottom of a bottle of the house white) someone gave us grappa - "the bollocks" - from the town where he was born.  He poured it straight into my espresso cup and after I downed it ("this girl drinks like a builder," apparently) it left the cup completely clean, god only knows what it did to my insides.  I got involved with an argument about Welsh rugby with a Saffa at the bar and F prevented me making an unwise bet about the next northern/southern hemisphere game.
Somehow or other I rolled home and into bed, singing all the way.  F called me to make sure I was ok.  I was more than ok.  I was happy.

 I have this inexplicably contrary urge to avoid the things I’m drawn to – to the point that I sometimes don’t order what I want, if I’m eating out (case in point: last week I treated myself to coffee and a cake for breakfast, and ended up ordering the cake I didn’t want. Where, I ask you, is the sense in that?!).  I have a sneaking suspicion that it might be connected to some sort of fear or doubt about Who I Really Am etc, coupled with a misplaced fear of being selfish – which, of course, I am, in ways that are not mitigated by my choosing a blueberry muffin over a Chelsea bun. Today I won a small victory against this weird form of personal sabotage, and bought myself a beautiful mandala for my bedroom wall.
 

And Polo said: "The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together.  There are two ways to escape suffering it.  The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it.  The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of the inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space."

( Invisible Cities... )

( ...and so am I )

It's a beautiful day.
The universe throws days like this at me, after big decisions - am I sure?  Am I sure I'm sure?  The market is such a great place to be on a morning like this.  Coffee at Monmouth (no other coffee compares), a little harmless flirtation with the Italians from the deli, some free acupuncture with a lovely new therapist and a chat with the guys at the shop, before wandering through the cathedral gardens and down the Thames path, in brilliant October sunshine, with a half-moon hanging in the sky overhead.  Under Waterloo bridge, the booksellers were laying out their tables; on the other side, an old couple were feeding a flock of small, black-headed seagulls - the gulls were treading air, hovering about a foot away from us, taking it in turns to catch the pieces of bread in their beaks as they were thrown.  They're beautiful birds.
Of course, it isn't all like this.
Across the river it was London as usual, in all its stressful, rude, polluted awfulness.  I wasn't in the mood for taking any bullshit today, so I dropped my usual, ridiculous, self-effacing habit of getting out of *everybody's* way (just not possible in London).  But I don't want to dwell on the bad points...
I spent a while in the National Gallery, had lunch with C outside Somerset house and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to enjoy the best that this city has to offer.  It's difficult to talk about leaving, but I know that I wouldn't enjoy myself half as much here without that end in sight.

Soaking in a steaming hot bath of vetiver, with a copy of the TLS (for the amazing lonely hearts ads), a mug of Earl Grey and Rum, Sodomy And The Lash playing in the background...

I walked home all the way from London Bridge in the pouring rain.  It was by far the best thing I did all day.  As soon as you make the decision to stop fighting the weather and just get wet instead, everything gets better.  The streets were almost empty, bar the odd, soggy, miserable-looking businessman with oversized umbrella, and the more miserable everybody else looked, the happier I felt.  It's not schadenfreude; it's the only way to keep hold of my sanity in a place like London.  About three miles into the walk, I found the inspiration I was looking for.  All the knots in my mind just unravelled, and the rest of the day didn't matter any more.

*s t r e t c h*

Now for a goat curry takeaway, and a good bit of writing before bedtime  :)

Tuesday morning *sigh*

So utterly, utterly tired of my work that I can feel my energy falling to my feet and leaking out of me.

How did I end up like this?  It's a case of "be careful what you wish for" - I know, I'll (assistant)manage a herbal remedies shop while studying herbal medicine! *slaps forehead*

The shop takes up all my time and energy, and is still hungry for more.  And I just don't care about it, I don't care how much profit we're making compared with last year, I don't care if some arsey customer wants to vent their spleen and demand to know what I, personally, am going to do about the fact that the company put some prices up (um, sell things to you at a higher price.  Or not.) - I don't care if people like that go away feeling positive about the company because, frankly, people like that don't want to feel positive about anything.

The job has its moments, of course it does, or else I wouldn't have stayed.  A few people came in with problems I could genuinely help, often after being given months of the same prescription by doctors who had basically told them there was nothing to be done (there is always something that can be done).  And later in the day, when the others saw my face turning stark white, they came over and gave me an unrequited (but much-needed) hug.  I love them all to pieces, I've never worked with such wonderful people - but I have to be on their backs all the time about work and money, towing the company line when I know that we're all understaffed and overworked...  The higher my position gets, the further it takes me from the things I enjoy about the job.

So now what...?

( the same old dilemma... )

If I ever reach a conscious decision - instead of just drifting into one thing or another - I'll let you know  ;)

*The* very same day I give up on them completely, BT write us a snivelling letter of apology, refund all the money they've stolen from our account and send someone over to set it all up for us anew.  Woohoo!

I can't believe, after 3 years of internet cafes all over the UK and Spain, I'm finally sitting in my very own flat, with my very own internet connection.  How very 21st century domestic.

Now to sort out those BPAL swaps...

I'm bowing out of LJ for a while, over ongoing battles with BT about bills for an internet connection that has NEVER WORKED.  One of these days I'll get a proper computer and modem all of my own, and then I can actually write stuff here for a change.  Until then, I'm off to batten down the hatches and wear out all the BPAL that I've already hoarded.

p.s. I know it's really cheap of me to say it here, but I don't have much time...  A big Thank You! and a new year's kiss to all the lovely pwaters folks who sent me cards in the Christmas card swap.  I'll be back in time for next year, I promise.