Today, because the weather was glorious and I wanted to keep up my 3 miles a day (day 3 and all is going well) I packed some bottles of water and walked off into the countryside.
Because you think you’re in the middle of nowhere all will be quiet and serene. But as a large part of my walk was a designated trail there were walkers and cyclists everywhere.
Most them were enjoying themselves in the gorgeous bank holiday weather. Others not so much. And twice I came across a couple who bickered about the woman’s resistance to the joys of cycling. Elsewhere at a picturesque viewing point an Eastern European couple argued.
But for the most part it was perfect. I like this kind of solitude. I love the countryside and nature, trying to identify various birdlife. Smelling the heady whiff of a hawthorn hedgerow in bloom.
And then I came home, bought beer and Cornettos.
I have come home to an empty house. The recently ex-boyfriend is out. I can do my own thing in my own time, quietly and without interruption.
In 3 months I will be going back into the unsatisfactory situation of a houseshare. There are several things wrong with houseshares:
Other people’s routines
Other people’s attitudes
Other people’s stuff
Other people’s opinions
Other people’s inability to shut the fuck up
So I am mentally getting myself ready for this next stage. Wish me luck.
I have two secrets. Both are known by my bestfriend and one is known by one other person who I haven’t seen in years. They are not particularly shattering, or unusual. But they are things that you don’t go around telling random people.
I feel lucky that there is one person I have known through the majority of my life who I can trust. I’ve moved a lot and fallen in and out with a lot of people. I find it easy to walk away from those who fuck with my life or betray my trust. Perhaps it’s a strength, perhaps not. It’s a safety mechanism. I’m just not that much of a people person.
And it’s mostly because I am quite a bad judge of character. So it’s easier to keep people at a distance than to make the same mistakes again. I’m sure one day I will work it out. But for now, I’m happy with a BFF even if we don’t get to see each other that often.
When did life become such a depressing concept. Has it always been like this? Is it something they don’t tell you about in school because they know you’d just give up trying?
School gears you for college. College gears you for University. University gears you for work. But work isn’t what they promise it will be. And you’re so caught up in the whole work, career, buy a house phenomenon that you forget about life. About just living. About friends. About how to have fun. Let go.
I want to let go. And have some fun. And find some friends. And be me.
When does that start to happen? And how do you do that in a city of people all doing the same thing?