anotherlongshot (anotherlongshot) wrote,

I returned to London today after spending a week in Cambridge at E's, and with E. I felt a slight sense of dread yesterday evening at the thought of returning, and now that I'm back in my room, the sense of dread hasn't yet abated.

It's a combination of things. It's always a combination of things, is it not? The lack excitement, the stillness of life, the ignominy of sharing a house at my age, the uncertainty regarding my future, what feels like leaving E behind... I want to move on with my life. But move on to what? Or rather: move away from the undercurrent of perpetual instability that runs through my life as it currently is. At the same time, the grass is always greener on the other side; I always want what I do not have. How long until I tire of the stability?

It's the same with E, too. I miss him now but it was only two days ago that I felt suffocated and claustrophobic, thus making the decision to come back today. My mood seems to be as changeable as the weather, capricious and unreasonable. My restlessness is wearing me out. I don't know how to explain why I am this why. I just am.


What if I never know what I want, what fulfils me? What if I live the rest of my life unsatisfied, unhappy? But perhaps more fundamentally, whoever said we need a purpose, and why have I believed it for so long? I wish things were easier, simpler, mundane. I wish I didn't spend most of my life expecting the impossible.

I don't know what I'm saying or where this is going. My attention span these days isn't long enough for a properly thought out entry. I'm just tired--physically and mentally. I really didn't know what I was getting myself into when I decided to do this PhD on 2015. It's a shame that we can't ever go back in time and undo our 'decisions'.


Not that I regret it, not really. But a little bit, yes. Mainly because it is the latest iteration on the my effort to improve my life, and so it is the one that is most likely to stick given biological facts, like my age. The thing that I regret about it, if I were to be brutally honest, is that the thought of it--that this is the thing that is likely to stick--fills me with rather little excitement.

Add to all this a perpetual homesickness. This is probably my period hormones talking, but I'm just so tired of being away.


On another note, my legs, especially the front of my thighs, are in so much pain today. It is a wonder that I managed to get back from E's place to mine, carrying my backpack, a sports bag and a big plastic bag of two pairs of sports shoes (running and tennis) and dirty clothes in one piece. Could've been worse, though, right? Things always could be worse. That says nothing about the actual quality and desirability of that which could have been worse.


Did no work today because spent afternoon travelling. Stressed as fuck.
Tags: angst

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