the semi-migraine caused by the relative glare of the laptop screen,
and that Sunday feeling you get when you don’t fucking leave the house all day.
I want to get out – and not just out of this unfunny joke of a fish bowl I pretend to call ‘home’.
I don’t like London. I don’t belong in London. I’m in London for one reason only, and I don’t how much longer I can keep reconciling myself with that.
I think if someone offered me a job just about anywhere else in the world that paid equivalent to what I’m on now, I’d be out of here like a gunshot, reason to be here or none. And I know my ‘reason’ wouldn’t come with me. Perhaps my reason wouldn’t come with me, either. Presently, I don’t think I care about that.
I want a different life to the one I see myself having, for as far as I care to look, the way things are going right now.
I can’t even go with the impulse to run, because statistically I’m pretty likely to die/get raped doing that here on my own. And I also don’t fancy the carbon monoxide intake.
Autumn Sunday blues. I want to tear something apart.