Packing up my room today. I’ve lived in this dingy little house for just over 3 years. On Thursday I’ll be moving to a shared house near Warren Street. Central London living, just like I always dreamed.
I do not know the housemates, bar one for about 5 minutes.
I do not know anything about the area, except it’s next to a theatre bookshop, in a strangely medieval-looking house which is 20 minutes walk from Soho.
It’s taking the risk again, just like when I first moved to London. Just like when it all started.
I won’t pretend I’m going to terribly miss Stratford. Behind the veneer they’re trying to put over it, there’s something flawed at the centre. Something wanting. Something unclean and unsavoury. The polished glass tries to hide the ugly problems beneath, but they shine through as clear as day. The poverty, the screaming the gunshots.
I won’t miss any of it.
But it was here that I really became me. It’s interesting to think back to when I moved in here. There was still something of the innocence about me, I think. I was so eager to fall in love. I had only had a taste of how wicked people could be. Of how cruel men could be. I supposed I have learned that since, along with a few other things. If nothing else, I’ve learned that I don’t want to become the people I’m living with now. When I reach their age, I must make more of my life than living in a dingy house in a dingy area with a dingy job.
Whatever else I become in life, I will not and never will let that happen.
I visited Tom and Jim on Saturday. Their friend Illiana has started referring to them as “domestigays”. Now that Sian has moved out they have their flat all to themselves, and they’re thoroughly revelling in it. Buying furniture and arranging it as they like. It was a joy to see them like that, although it did make me pine for something similar.
When is my turn to come? When will I meet the someone who I can have the same thing with?
Not the thing where I feel embroiled in a tangle of mind plays and silly text message analysis, which I loathe. The thing where it is just so easy and so free. The thing where it’s supposed to last forever. It only has to work out once, so when will it work out for me?
Living close to Central London now, I will have to make it work. I will have to begin doing things very differently. I will go out more now. I will attend groups and meetups and go on dates during the week.
I may well have switched jobs by then too. The Agency said it is very unlikely that they will match the offer which has been made to me by the online gaming company, therefore there is probably only one way that I will go, starting on January 3rd.
So potentially new job, new house new London life!
I’m excited about it all but so, so nervous as well.
What if it fails?
What if it messes up?
One of my Mother’s favourite expressions is “if it’s meant to be, it will be.” And so far, I suppose, things haven’t worked out too badly for me. In fact, you could go as far as to say that they’ve worked out pretty well.
I went for coffee with Franciscus last week, who told me that he and Lewis were no more. It was a horror story. He told me how things had fallen apart, and of how Lewis would turn mean during their arguments. When Franciscus tried to break it off, Lewis actually sent him pictures of where he’d cut himself. At the time I was furious with Franciscus for stealing Lewis away from me, but I never wished for something that horrible to happen. It really made me shudder. It also made me wonder what demons Lewis had had that he had never revealed to me, and whether I had been blind not to see them.
Anyhow, it made me thankful that it wasn’t a drama I had had to be caught up in. And right now I’d rather chase a fresh start than a man.
I’m scared going into this week, as it will finally decide the next step in my career and therefor my London life.
Pray God it’s the right decision.