I have a new job in the Inventory Control department of British Steel Services, tapping 8-digit product codes into their database. I hate it but I stumble through the hours wordlessly, fighting a constant losing battle against a weariness that worsens by the day. While I was in Italy my previous employers decided they didn't need me any more, and that there was not much point my going back. I started this new placement the next morning, and haven't even gone back to the old place return my key. I'm sure I've left things in my desk but I'm too tired to cope with the drama of turning up there, hearing their explanations, saying my farewells. If I've left a place I've left it, particularly jobs; I very rarely want to think about it again.
Now I'm sitting on the top floor of these city centre offices and the raspberry & echinacea tea I'm drinking tastes like soil in my mouth. I watch the slow progress of the clock in the corner of my screen mournfully, although I'm not sure what it is I'm mourning. These golden September days, perhaps, days I should be spending reading my texts for next year, sitting crosslegged on my bed in the afternoon sun, a book in my lap, mentally preparing myself for term? Or is it my whole summer, divided between frantic escapes by train at weekends and an introverted limbo inbetween? Summers in your home town should be careless, relaxed, spent with old friends in city haunts, drinking and smoking. A ritual farewell to adolesence. (Or perhaps I'm wrong, perhaps the lonely emptiness Leicester holds for me now does have meaning, perhaps it signals once and for all that I don't have a place here any more.) It could be this melancholy is simply exhaustion; I'm tired of leaving those I love and facing a bleak week of work alone, I'm tired of missing people. It's tedious, and I'm sick of counting days - until I leave, until I see him again, until I once again pack my life into boxes and rejoin my real life in Cambridge, which I feel has been waiting for me during my long absence, holding its breath. I want to arrive somewhere and actually stay there long enough to be happy.
I'm being ridiculous, I know. It's just that I'm so bored of this now. My weekend with Iain was wonderful but I'm sick of coming back here, each and every time. I'm desperate to write about Italy but I can't find the words. It seems so far away. Maybe I'll feel better about all this tonight. I'm going to go get myself a coffee.
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on 2003-09-15 11:52 am (UTC)And I'll see ya in Cam. Dress all in black and wear a veil and a red carnation. I shall be identifiable by my shaven head and perpetual smirk.
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on 2003-09-15 12:40 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2003-09-15 02:05 pm (UTC)That bears repeating if only to savour it.
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on 2003-09-15 02:23 pm (UTC)All three of those are good, though I'd rather start off with solitary coffee; that way I can
heartlessly seduce you before casting you aside like a soiled ragfeel more comfortable.I am not currently inclined to wear the robe in public. Too pretentious even for me, or will be at least until I am a Man of Letters and am hence able to swan about with complete disregard for the opinion of the common herd. Though I am fond of it enough to leap at the slightest excuse...
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on 2003-09-15 04:30 pm (UTC)Glad you had a wonderful weekend. I miss you a bit, which I wasn't expecting. Hope the coffee is good with sugar and foamed milk. I miss Italian coffee! Nothing you can get here is even slightly the same. Arrgh!
xxx
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on 2003-09-16 01:01 am (UTC)robes in public are a dodgy issue... except when drunk and doing batman impersonations.
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on 2003-09-16 10:05 am (UTC)I miss you too. I miss having someone to talk to, damnit. Leicester's lonely anyway without having to come straight from spending all my time with someone so fantastic. I miss italian coffee too; I'm not even touching the coffee machine at work, I'm drinking herbal tea instead. xxx
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on 2003-09-16 10:06 am (UTC)no subject
on 2003-09-16 10:10 am (UTC)no subject
on 2003-09-16 10:55 am (UTC)no subject
on 2003-09-16 11:03 am (UTC)And yay Bradgate! I might be there again this Saturday with Iain. It must still be quite green at the moment, but I agree: once the leaves have fallen and the bracken has died, nothing else has ever been haunting until you've seen it.
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on 2003-09-16 11:25 am (UTC)If I have any time off from my busy schedule of writing lengthy and timeless prose fragments, conducting conversations with my cat and refuting Kant, I shall learn to blow smoke rings.
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on 2003-09-16 02:05 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2003-09-17 09:49 am (UTC)no subject
on 2003-09-17 09:50 am (UTC)no subject
on 2003-09-17 09:58 am (UTC)no subject
on 2003-09-17 10:35 am (UTC)no subject
on 2003-09-18 12:14 am (UTC)