In case you do not already know...Diana and I have decided to move in together. It's time to take our relationship to the next level. I mean...she is my ex/rebound. Because of this decision, we have done a lot of driving around midtown frantically calling numbers from little red signs stuck in random yards. We have realized this: people offering 'too good to be true' deals on really big duplexes with hardwood floors and all appliances...are usually trying to pawn off a duplex in an area of 'midtown' that is inhabited by dirty old men with beer cans in paper bags during the day and prostitutes during the evening. But hey...I do need a job. In any case...this is difficult. Not only because people are getting pretty proud of their midtown properties, but because I've got this notion in my head that I need to be inspired by the place. We've found a place that inspires me...but it's $150 a month more expensive than a smaller, less inspirational place...with a much smaller bathroom. Lemme ask you this: is $450 a month too much to pay for a big place? It's less than I was paying to live alone...so...I am therefore torn.
I do a lot of driving around midtown lately...and driving back and forth between Hickory freakin' Hill. At home this evening, my mom and I ate dinner while watching 'John and Kate Plus Eight' on TLC. It's this show about a couple that had twins and then decided to have another kid...and got sixtuplets or....whatever you call them. The mom's belly was ridiculous. So is actually watching hour after hour of the show. It's entertaining...don't get me wrong...and the kids are nuts...and it kinda makes me feel a little bit better about my life...cause I don't have 8 damn kids yelling in my ears all the time. The more I watched this show though, the more I kept picturing myself back in London...doing what I would have been doing at this time...instead of watching TLC. I might have been watching TV with....him.....or messing around on the internets, or cooking...I mean...nothing much more exciting...but I would be in London...and not Hickory Hill. Then I get sad. Sad for where my body used to be...and sad for where my heart used to be. There's so much more room in the States. Everything is much more closed in in London. I drive to and from Midtown and I picture myself on the tube...crammed in between two guys talking about football. I feel like there's so much room, gravity is pulling my body in a million different directions, and I might break apart into a million little pieces. But...in actuality...nothing that spectacular is happening...it's just another day...in my life...that will one day end...and I'm plodding on towards having a fulfilling routine...I am therefore forlorn.
I do not know what to do with my feelings. I want to cry, but there don't seem to be any tears left at the moment. I want to laugh, but I feel so rigid inside and out...uncomfortable in my skin. There are times when I don't think about the pain...or the confusion...or the past...or even the future for that matter. I can't tell you exactly when they've happened...but I know they've happened. It's like a glitch in the Universe...in my Universe...as it tries to repair itself, and prepare itself for what's next. I cannot imagine the future. I cannot imagine myself in another relationship. I cannot imagine myself wanting to love someone. What a pain it is to mourn.