I often romanticize about these types of train rides.
These are the type of train rides I write about.
Interrailling, soon. Very soon.
— Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore (via 1112pm)
I haven’t written in a while. I haven’t posted much full stop.
Have I been busy? Yes, very.
We’ve moved out, into our new flat. It’s a beautiful place; liberatingly spacious after the last 2 years and filled with natural light. We live on the top floor, with a south facing balcony overlooking the O2 and Canary Wharf. We pay the same in mortgage/rent/service charge as we did previously in that batcave. We are home-owners and living comfortably within our means.
And if the things could just stop there, I can let myself be happy.
Instead, stress is creeping in again and it’s invading from all sides:
The flat, a new build, has problems. Warranty covers these but our housing association is proving difficult to get off their arse to sort them.
Job. New boss has been around for 1.5 months now. Getting better? Yes. Less stressed, certainly not. Last Monday in team meeting, I was told that my workload will double as they hand over the biggest channel in the business to my list of responsibilities. Salary compensation? Nada.
Job-hunting. My mind half-in, half-out. Interviews to prepare for, presentations requested. I’m procrastinating right now writing this post. Am I actually interested in any of these jobs? I don’t even know.
And of course, the crux of everything, the familiar sinkhole every negative emotion ultimately returns to: family.
Past few weeks have returned to the dark waters of last year. Ironically, just as my CBT concluded. I wonder what those questionnaires would add up to now. I’m not letting the emotions run, there’s too much things to do. I berate myself, I hate myself, I shut off myself. I make sure I don’t have moments of nothing to do, even working from home yesterday made me cuckoo by the end of the day. But work has ceased to be a sanctuary of purposeful, meaningful busyness - and often I find myself wallowing in something similar to gloom and oblivion, unable and can’t be asked to dive into the darkness and get it over with, or slap myself stupid and yank my sorry ass out of it.
Feeling rather numb, and not just to pain.
I’d like to enjoy these moments of owning our new flat, our first real home. I want to care about the furniture we buy, the colours to match, the little touches to make it ‘ours’. I want to remember these weeks as the beginning of our life, of excitement and joy.
Not guilt. Not stress. Not being overwhelmed with everything - even happiness.
It shouldn’t need to be this way.
"Blood Swept Lands And Seas Of Red" | Tower of London WW1 poppies memorial. Quite stunning. (at Tower of London)
— r.m.drake (via boldrisks)
I haven’t seen my parents in awhile
Seeing them makes me both happy and sad
They’re my world
And I wish my world could stay together
We cannot feel love, happiness and nostalgia without pain.
So I keep my body busy instead.