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.