So...
I've moved to London. I've been here nearly two months. And? I bloody hate it. The job's boring; they're yet to pay me on time. I've been lodging with a friend but have to move out by the 29th. I don't feel settled at all. I'm still living out of suitcases. I've found a house but am yet to sign the contract. I feel this is my last window of opportunity to do something before I'm trapped.
And then there's M. M who I had to tell before I moved down that I could no longer be his friend because it was too hard to deal with the unreciprocated feelings I STILL had for him. M who then said that actually who was to say they were unreciprocated? M who after a long summer of stolen meetings and lengthy conversations, deep thinking and plenty of rail miles, is now my 'boyfriend'. M who I adore. M who is still up north and who doesn't know that the whole REASON for moving to London was because I had to get away from him, for my own sanity! When things didn't work out earlier this year, 'right,' said i, with the bullish streak that runs through me, 'i'm off to london! i need to forget about him! i need space!' After all, I had nothing worth staying for, did I?
And now... How everything has turned on its head. I'm down here and he's up there and how I fucking hate it.
What's the other side of the story? That I have said to myself since I was a teenager I would move and live in London one day? That after a bad first few months at university, which I now deeply regret, I thought I'd learnt the lesson to always grasp hold of every opportunity, seize every day? That if I help my hands up and said 'Hey guess what everybody, I made a mistake', I'd look a fool? That I'm on my fifth job in three years and really need to make a go of this one? That after one of my previous relationships ended I learnt the lesson never to do something just for a man? That if I moved back up who is to say M wouldn't go all 'I can't do this anymore' on me again?
I don't know. All I know is that right now I'm not really waving. I'm drowning.
