It doesn’t make sense to me that you wouldn’t want to remember your life. This concept of partying, it’s like you’re sweeping up after yourself constantly. You’re just sweeping away your memories. I like to be present, and keep it with me. Some people think of straight edge as a tee-totaling sobriety movement, but in my mind it was just about self definition. I found it unimpeachably positive. But people always find ways to be derisive. You’re in England – you fucking know that, right? It’s an extremely snarky society.
When you fall off the edge and getting back involves a long climb. Returning isn’t simply a single step.
I meant to start a list of things I was going to start doing in the coming school year. I just never got around to finding the time to do it. I had a thought that I might do it tomorrow but realistically, I’m just gonna dilly dally. I want to do overhead squats and burpees but I think the school gym is under construction still.
I was going to meditate more, stick to the strength programme that I’m now paying for, write more, practise my Chinese more (especially outside in the real world), to try and get my head around teaching Year 2 and the particular requirements that our school presents.
Maybe I should just do all of them.
I don’t think I like good byes. It’s not easy when it’s ‘good bye, see you next year, possibly, visa permitting.’
‘Good bye, see you soon’ or ‘good bye, see you next week’ because you work together or they live in the same city or the same country.
Coming back to the UK full of good byes, often said too shortly said after saying hello again.
I feel an obligation to make the very most of it, whatever that means. To make it meaningful perhaps. To try and say all those things that I’ve been meaning to get off my chest. To say to someone I feel knows me better.
It’s never that way, of course.
Spending time with good friends isn’t like that. It’s filled with comfortable silence, jokes, memories, simply talking.
But I’ve realised, that that’s enough. It’s not that I need to get it all out, more I needed to find a place when I can instead cope with the things I’ve been thinking about.
Home is the place I go back to, the place I sleep and eat, where I spend most of my time, a place I feel comfortable, a place I feel I belong.
I think about it a lot, especially when I come back to the U.K..
When I think about why I’m coming back, what I’m going to do, where I’m going to stay, who I (need/want/am going) to see.
It complicates it in ways that still makes me feel the anxiety rising.
This time I came back because there were people and things I missed living abroad.
I suppose it is significant the people I have seen and those I didn’t get around to seeing.
The people who can make me feel like I’m home, the places I can say the same.
Jealousy is easy. You can be jealous of everyone!
Look at that person in a fancy car that you don’t really care about! It’s expensive! I bet it makes them so much happier then you are right now!
Look at that person in the shop buying stuff that you neither want, nor need! I bet it they feel a kind of pure joy that is unobtainable without spending money!
Look at that person in First Class! They will know happiness for the next 10 hours that you will never know, stuck back there in the economy seats as you head across the world on holiday.
Look at that couple! Don’t they look so happy. They are probably happy all the time. Don’t they look so perfect!
Look at that guy in that shop, working there would be simpler? Sure it might be a bit monotonous but you wouldn’t have half as much stress. Wouldn’t need to take work home either!
Look at them. They must earn less then you, they must be nice. Who needs stuff anyway? Clothes or fancy food, you don’t really. I think it must be great being them.