anotherlongshot (anotherlongshot) wrote,
anotherlongshot
anotherlongshot

I had hoped to make some headway on one of the stories that I started writing a few months ago, but which I have stopped working on, after dinner with Elijah tonight--especially given the fact that I suddenly felt like writing it this afternoon when the task was my 377A paper. Alas, inspiration/the writing mood is a capricious thing, unreliable and unpredictable. When I am not in the mood, I am not in the mood, and there is nothing that I can do about it. I have yet to figure out the perfect conditions to get me into The Mood. But it seems like it comes whenever it wants; the words just appear out of nowhere, not caring whether it's a convenient time, and the times when I did not see fit to answer their call (e.g. when I'm in between being fully awake and fully asleep) left me with a distinct sense of regret. So these days, when I feel the urge to write, I just write, even if I'm supposed to be doing official things.

Today has not been that productive. Or rather, it could have been a lot more productive. I knew, last night at post-drinks at Sidney, that I was on to something when I told Kaara that no, I did not want to go dancing after post-drinks because I wanted to work the next day (i.e. today). I did not want to drink too much and sleep in too late the next day and spend the morning with a headache. But that was what I ended up doing anyway. In the end, we didn't go to gross Spoons or some other shitty Cambridge club, but to Baroosh, a nice enough bar. I was with Kaara, Ivan (who invited us to the formal), Patrick and Milhan (who joined us after the formal). At dinner, we started with a prosecco at pre-drinks, then had white and red wine over dinner, and port at post-drinks. I've never once felt physically well when I do drinks in this sequence; every single proper formal with alcohol, I have found myself feeling sick when I got to the port. So I didn't drink much of the port, but I did drink quite a bit of red wine.

At Baroosh, I had a medium glass of red wine that Milhan got for me. The bar was quite empty; most of the people there were from the Sidney formal. I stuck to my group, talked mainly to Ivan, and without intending to, I found myself in that happy high where I could dance without feeling like a fool. Sometime later, when I was done with my glass of wine, I thought, Hmm, let's take this high a bit higher, and got a gin and tonic.

It was a terrible idea for two reasons. First, 15 minutes after I got my drink, the bar bloody closed--and it did so in such an abrupt manner. They suddenly turned on the house lights and turned off the music in the middle of a song. Like I muttered to my friends, shit like that is why I want to leave Cambridge.

Second, the g&t was probably what gave me a splitting headache when I got home, and when I woke up today. I woke up at the usual time (8ish) but couldn't get out of bed until 10.30. So I skipped breakfast and made lunch immediately, then went to the library and felt tired the whole afternoon. That was precisely why I didn't want to drink too much last night.

Nonetheless, it was a lot of fun. I like Tipsy Ivan because he's so cute when he dances. I think he's genuinely quite upset that I am (supposedly) moving to London; he kept trying to convince me to stay, kept saying, 'Why are you going there? All your friends are here!'

That's the thing, isn't it? All my friends are here. London gives me access to all these different restaurants and bars and cultural things, but who am I going to go to these places with? I'm resolutely not planning to date, and I don't even have any friends there. Why do I want to make new friends just for a year when I have made a few really good friends here?

So I am having second thoughts about London. I am afraid of feeling even lonelier there than I do here; and I am afraid that the isolation and loneliness would impede my progress on the PhD. At the same time, I am afraid that I would regret passing up the opportunity to live in a big city again, especially because it's London and I love London, and I just haven't enjoyed Cambridge very much at all.

But like I told Elijah, though, the main reason I hadn't been happy in Cambridge was because I was focusing too much on finding a relationship, and my successive failed attempts in that regard, all confined to a place as small as Cambridge, have given rise to this feeling of unhappiness and dissatisfaction. Who's to say that I will be happier in London? In fact, who's to say that I will not be happier in Cambridge, now that I'm done with dating for the rest of the academic year and I'm determined to focus on the important things: my PhD, my CV and my friends? Maybe I would be happier now with this new mindset.

On the other hand...it's London. And I have an amazing room. How do I give this up?

On a deeper note, one of the many things that I dislike about myself is my trusty and reliable knack of second-guessing decisions that I thought had been firmly made. I thought I had made up my mind to move to London; and now I'm questioning it. I thought I was sure about the PhD; now I think it was a mistake. What the hell is going on here? It seems like I suffer from perpetual Grass Is Greener Syndrome, coupled with a strong Fear of Losing Out mentality. I don't appreciate enough what I have because I am always wondering what else is out there, if I can find something better; and because I fear losing out, I cannot abandon, with conviction, the chance that the grass on the other side is greener. More concretely: I fear losing out on a great year in London, and so despite knowing that I have good friends here whom I am reluctant to leave, I am tempted to discover whether the grass in London is, indeed, greener than the grass in Cambridge.

It would be amazing if I could bring my friends to London with me. That would make everything perfect.

Since life is not and will never be perfect, though, I will just make a decision and commit to it. Or rather: I ought to just commit to the decision that I have already made. Why am I even wavering? I hate the weakness of my conviction sometimes.

*

On another note, here's another thing that I hate about myself: the sovereignty of my heart over my head. Just because something makes sense doesn't mean that it feels right. How reliable is a feeling, how much weight ought I accord it, if I cannot explain what this feeling is, what it wants, and how to bring about what it wants in concrete terms?

But I cannot live with the disconnect between what I feel and what I know. It is impossible not to have expectations when my feelings have been engaged. In the same vein, the only way to get rid of these expectations is to get rid of my feelings. This disconnect is like a blackhole into which my good sense disappears; and along with it, emotional equilibrium, focus, logic.

Is it an asset or a flaw that I feel intensely? Too intensely, sometimes. My feelings are like fireworks. Isn't it startling how I really don't care about Never Again anymore after spending so much time and emotional energy on him?

I don't know. I am tired. I am out of words for now.
Tags: cambridge, drinking, friends, london, personal, writing
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