I sat square in the sun and watched women, out for a sunday morning shop, attempt to walk across jumbled cobble stones in ill thought out high heels. As I sat, with the cool march rays attempting to break through the sky, and the gulls lining the streets, shouting out rounds of raucous laughter each time an ankle gave way; it started to spit and shatter and drop with golden morsels from the clouds. And there I remained. With the breeze picking up and the drips falling down and the rays trying to live and breathe on their own. I sipped an irresponsible and clumsy tall soya caramel latte and wondered how I ended up here. On a sunday in march, unable to breathe, able to travel anywhere with no support to do it. How I ended up sitting on a bench surrounded by pigeons fighting for crumbs of a misspent muffin on a semi-sunny sunday morning. How I ended up being somewhere and nowhere and everywhere in-between. How did I end up here? Again. At 27. As the pink claws of the starving masses surrounded me I picked my coffee up and joined the throngs. In comfortable shoes, with no money, the gulls held their laughter from my ears. I drank from the cup that had a tendancy to dribble down itself and drained it dry. Sucked the caffeine from the cup and tossed it in the bin. I scraped the bottom of my purse and bought a Big Issue just to remind me of where I was, who I was, what I had despite having nothing at all. Then I drove home.
Exhausted. So much to do. So many job applications to write. So little sleep.
I really need to find time to phone a fucking therapist - my head is so messy right now, and my time is so tightly organised. I just need a day of doing nothing. Of having nothing *to* do. Of finding time to phone a therapist who will sort my head out.
So I can pretend for a little while longer I am okay.
I want to grab a slice and sip on an iced tea lemonade.
I need new cover girl lashblast volume and really miss oppressive heat.
I miss wide open giant roads and friendly friendly people.
I really miss America today.
We spoke of night drives and fast food fries. Of travelling with little more than what we wore on our backs.
We bought books and mapped out routes filled with beach side babes and vast empty highways. Places where the stars were allowed to shine, expected to shine, where our whispers would resound in the black.
I thought about it a lot. Back then. When all things were possible. When ideas and dreams beat out jobs and credit cards, when comfort and home and him were all inextricably linked. I thought about it a lot, always, like a dull ache in the back of my chest.
Now I don’t know what I think. What I feel.
I know I want out, need out. Need inky black nights and adventures with friends. I need new horizons, I need to leave. To breathe. I need comfortable shoes, no constant bills. I need something other than this, this constant constancy of knowing what is coming, how much needs paying, what can’t happen, no surprises.
We thought about it a lot, once upon a time.