good as gold

The week began as follows:

9:00 AM- START WORK

9:01 AM- OBSERVE FULL LENGTH LOWER LIMB RUN IN PANTYHOSE 

10:42 AM - HOSPITAL BADGE AND KEY CARD FALL INTO URINE FILLED PUBLIC TOILET. FISH BOTH OUT. WASH HANDS.

12:47- GET REPRIMANDED BY CAFETERIA LADY FOR CROSS CONTAMINATING CUCUMBER SPOON WITH TOMATO AND OLIVE SPOON

12:57 - DISCOVER SHORT BLACK CURLY HAIR ON FINAL BITE OF CAFETERIA SALAD


My last post did not go over well. I was chided by friends and family for making careless decisions, mother going so far as to deposit twenty times the cost of a bike helmet into my account on the condition that I buy and wear a bike helmet.  I am poor and also happen to be absolutely terrified of her so...

HI MOM.

Things are going pretty well apart from the hair that has been stuck in the back of my throat since Monday. It has done my head in to the degree that I can't tell anymore whether it's actually there or just a psychological response to having found a pube in my lunch earlier this week.

I have ventured on a multidisciplinary approach to get my bad attitude in check. I started a mindfulness meditation course which appears to be taking effect quite fast. After session one I came back to find my laptop bathing in the contents of a spilled water bottle. It doesn't work anymore. The day after my iphone went skating across the hospital, rendering my voice in future conversation akin to "speaking from the inside of a packet of potato crisps". social demands obligated me to buy two new electronic devices on the same day.  but in spite of spending a months salary and consequently having eaten beans on toast for the last three meals, I remain remarkably calm, a controlled reaction I attribute to having spent two hours touching, observing, tasting, and LISTENING to a raisin. Yes. I was obliged to listen to a raisin as part of my meditation course. And you know what? It worked better than xanax. you should try it. 

I also started seeing a therapist. he is cute and my age and that is definitely weird, although he wears a gold necklace which renders him unattractive enough to be objective according to me. On session 1 I ugly cried for an hour. He recommended I download an app called Breathing Zone. I have followed his advice and paid the 3.99 to hire a robot lady to tell me to "breath in, breath out" according to the number of breaths/minute i exhort her to exhort me to take.

I have also started reading for the second time The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck. It's zen buddhism marketed into a cute westernized package. My kind of self help, particularly given my penchant for expletives:

“Giving too many fucks is bad for your mental health. The key to a good life is 

not giving a fuck about more; it’s giving a fuck about less, 

giving a fuck about only what is true and immediate and important.” 

This kind of spirited text along with such activities as listening to raisins has really helped me chill out lately.  

I have been spending time with my cousin Matthew. I managed to convince him to come live with me. He lets me boss him around, frequently succumbing to my demands that he stop his studying and watch louis c.k./eat ben and jerry's/meditate with me. We have realized that we share not only a last name but some mild psychological disorders including OCD. OCD is characterized by obsessive thoughts mitigated by compulsive behaviors that are rationally unrelated. For instance, when I was a kid I used to resolve my obsessive thought that I might become suddenly orphaned by tapping on the sofa a specific number of times. I never told anyone. Last week Matthew was eating hobnobs while we were watching a film. He ate one then appeared unsettled, looked at me, fidgeted a bit, looked back at the package, then reached for another cookie and said:  

"I have to eat everything in even numbers."

and what happens if you don't?  I asked.

"someone might die."   

Safe to say we are bonding quite quickly.

Morgan my belgian bestie was in town this weekend. He kindly commented that my flat isn't as shit as he'd expected, although pointed out that my floors are "bouncy" (they are) and my landlord is "really chill but missing a lot of teeth." We demolished london a la Mr and Ms. Pac-man. I think every one of our photos together has a fork in it. Always nice to have friends around. 

And with that, I am finally starting to feel settled in my new habitat, even managed to find a new prized mani pedi salon which is a luxury I enjoy second to an oversized bowl of lucky charms. (the only thing is that they use a cheese grater to remove my calluses which I find terribly strange, but I suppose adaptability is a gift for your synapses). So there she is, north London from the view of my favorite spot on earth, pot of gold tucked somewhere into those side streets not too far down the horizon.  

head gear

i have a certain solidarity for London cyclists, particularly the ones who run red lights and refuse helmets. this is because I belong to this category of people. We get pegged for stupidity but it's misunderstood; the choice driven instead by the bleak self awareness that my brain isn't valuable enough to risk messing up my hair to protect. In the event I were struck by black cab and the built-in helmet that is my skull proved an unworthy safeguard for preventing my central nervous system from turning into a creamed potato, I can assure you that London would not stutter nor blink nor slow. "Keep calm and carry on" they'd say, toot the horn then feed me to the worms. 

People are sooo bloody rules-oriented in this country. obedient until the cows come home and ostensibly personally offended when someone else does not abide. to give an example whilst on the topic of cycling, the other morning i was riding home from the gym on an empty road at 7am. There was a traffic light built in for pedestrians, the subtext here being that IT WAS NOT A REAL INTERSECTION. like, no cross street.The traffic light turned red. there were no cars, no possibility for turns, and no people crossing the road- only me on a highly sinkable single speed olive rossignoli that really chaps my ass when it comes to matters of reversing inertia. So I blew through the light, ignoring the four or five sheep on wheels traveling in the opposite direction, in that moment mind-numbingly compliant as they waited for the universe's most pointless traffic light to turn green and reallocate the right of passage. Call me the prodigal daughter. My actions so uncouth that I was verbally assaulted by a middle aged man from across the road who shouted: "you are a BAD biker " with all the tones of the devil possessed in his viscera reflected toward me for all to witness. He genuinely hated me. obviously I erupted into laughter. not a coincidence he belonged to that group of smug turds who wear helmets. 

It has been ages since I sat down to write something non work-related that wasn't predicated on emojis. That's basically because I have spent the last three months trying so desperately to keep my shit together and not royally fuck up my life that the creative process was squashed.  Last week I think I cried two, no probably three times at work. The fact that you are reading this means I have found a moment of serenity in the eye of the hurricane. no, actually it's because I am procrastinating for an exam I have next week. but also, tomorrow my therapist will call me at 9:45am to check in. 

Oh, I hate my apartment! it's got brown short haired carpet that has been devastated by moths.  Everytime someone uses the kitchen sink my room smells catastrophically of rotten eggs.  the kitchen floor is literally made of paper and has a tear in it that flaps in the draft.  there is a blue flashing light that illuminates my bedroom so pervasively at night like the sun that never sets in iceland during the summertime, such that I cannot sleep even with pills, but also can't extinguish for it's the ultrasonic machine that keeps the rats away. the walls are so thin you can hear the neighbors THINK while they scratch their arses, and the refrigerator is too small to carry the burden of even a gallon of milk. the water is also so hard my hair has turned into one giant crust. but you know what? I bloody love it here. I am in love with this city. There is a never ending supply of things to do to help distract you from the emptiness of your soul. Theatre in the West End on Thursday, spilling champagne on a diplomat at the US Embassy on Friday, standing alone in front of a Mondrian on Saturday, and gobbling down a seven course fixe prix of fried insects on Sunday.   

UPDATE: my pap smear came back clean last week! This is particularly handy given that I found out after the fact that my GP sends all the lab samples to the hospital where i fucking work. 

Anyway, I've been thinking, you know what makes London so special other than the stuff to do? it's the people. the brilliant, beautiful, weird, cultivated, original, fearless people. Where everyone has a story. Where 300 different languages are spoken in schools, and diversity and mutual respect are so celebrated that even in this village of approximately 65 billion people, citizens can coexist with propriety- obediently following the golden cultural rules of standing on the right and passing on the left, or apologizing to the person who steps on YOUR foot. 

Just stay away from the assholes in helmets who stop at red lights.