It was a weird sort of afternoon. I had plans to go to Zumba class but upon leaving the flat came across a wounded Magpie lingering in the walkway. As I rounded the exit to the street, I was accosted by a group of punk adolescent boys who threw a cranberry – a cranberry – at me, and when I confronted them on it they became quite aggressive. Apparently living in London has made me a bit mouthy, and I probably shouldn’t have engaged in any extended banter, but I couldn’t help myself return the cussing. How dare they?! Long story short, I was fine but did call the police on them as they threatened me with a variety of outcomes. Classy, kids.
Not the Magpie in question.
Whilst on the phone I met a very nice neighbour who rescued the injured magpie and introduced me to her four rescue bunnies that live on her balconey. I did make it to the gym, but was not allowed to join the Zumba class because I was too late *shakes fist at stupid kids!* Thirty minutes of the elliptical and I was ready for a relaxing walk home through the Double Rainbow garden. Unfortunately my bliss was interrupted when I noticed a bird dangling by his left foot from a tree. Poor thing had become entangled in some string and was caught. After a few phone calls I arranged with the RSPCA to attend, found a man who lives in the park to act as a contact point, and was able to go home. (Outcome: the RSCPA never did show up, but the bird got loose on his own.)
Cooking.
Crocheting.
Phone call with Mom. It was during this, a discussion about all the art classes and events she’s been involved with that the pang hit me.
Homesickness.
What’s this? I know it comes every once in a while, but was it really her talk of ‘Art and Wine’ evenvings that brought me to this place? I quickly had thoughts of owning my very own house, working as a Mental Health Counsellor for children and adolescents, and being back with loved ones. It would be nice. But then again I’d miss out on all the good things like trips to Egypt and Iceland and trains and pubs and friends who understand what it’s like to be ‘skint’.
I think what it really boils down to is that I’m still not sure where my life is going, and I’m struggling with being in this limbo. It’s not uncomfortable – it’s just unknown. And I find that to be a little bit scary.
So I have a solution – all my family and friends back home need to relocate here to London. It’d make my life perfect. Agreed?
