london, being sad, reading

for a while now i have wanted to do a blog post about the things i miss from back home or like generally write about living away for this long
i am a lazy writer and i don't know what to say anyway
occasionally i think that london is kicking the shit out of me, i wake up and think that a few times a week, usually going down the same staircase at clapham junction station where this morning there was this aryan type boy selling greek yoghurt
the best part of my life for the past month has been sitting by the river in twickenham across from this island called 'eel pie island' and hanging out near hundreds of geese, a few ducks and some swans
although last weekend it was crispin's birthday and kirsty and stephen came to visit and i felt overwhelming amounts of affection for them all, i think it occurred to me how i will actually miss something about here
because for basically the whole time i've been here i have felt mostly miserable, and generally i figure this is the most miserable i've been in my whole life, but i'm not sure whether that's because i've finished uni and i guess i'm meant to just work now instead of getting more knowledge (or whatever i was doing there)
but then it seems like maybe this is just what the rest of life is, trying to find a nicer job and trying to not be sad about the way that the weeks consistently unfold, (that great gatsby quote "so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past"), or not being with the people you love, or not knowing who it is you love, trying to be a better version of yourself, running out of time, not having enough money, i guess that's pretty much it, feels sad to be constantly aware of that

i have been trying to read a lot more as a way to get away from this and also to try and find inspiration to write in a way that i don't hate (it is difficult to not hate what i am writing right now)

things i have read: a book about a pedophile, a book about two weird sisters who killed their entire family, a book of essays about 'home', a book about broken hill (mining town in australia), a book about a japanese lady who moves to england, a book about some rich teenagers who accidentally kill someone then have to kill their friend to cover it up.

it's silly because i always accepted that this year i would just have no friends, no money and be lonely a lot and that i would read more books than i had in a long time, which i guess is what's ended up happening.

there are some small beautiful moments in london life, like getting 2 buses home because trains aren't running and seeing the ole olympic rings on tower bridge, every time i go past the shard i think of crispin yelling "the SHARD" in a drunken state, walking through crystal palace and seeing the london skyline all lit up and nice, hearing people talking on the bus is funny to me.. and i sort of like the weird routine of seeing the same people waiting for the 8.43 train at gipsy hill, the reliably late south west trains, getting coffee from australians at the clapham junction pretzel place, making up dumb songs with my flatmates who are the only reason i am still alive here today, getting to know properly what a welsh accent is, taking people to see the dinosaurs in crystal palace park

i wish i could stop being incensed by cath kidston

i guess these things aren't interesting(?)

i wanted to blog for a while about some more cameos in my life, like people who i have worked with this year, i think that will be the next post that i do ok