London: day thirty-eight

Hey there!

Per the norm, class went well. Today, I had my Modern British Novel class, which I particularly enjoyed today because the literature we discussed was, up to date, my favorite of what we’ve read so far; a book called Regeneration by Pat Barker. The novel is a series of three, yet we only read the first. It had a similar feel as One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, which so happens to be one of my favorite novels. Most of the class didn’t enjoy it, and understandably, it was one of the most difficult novels we’ve read so far; of course, naturally, makes it my favorite. For me, it was the imagery that attracted me, there are moments within the book that are just absolutely heart-wrenching, and I always appreciate an author who can elicit strong emotions like that; especially from me as I am generally a fairly unemotional reader.

I then spent most of the day at NIDO working on a short story of my own. I found a short story competition through the Artists and Writers’ Magazine that I thought would be fun to enter. It is a British magazine, but it is open to all nationalities. The topic is listed simply as “the visit,” and it is due by midnight this Saturday. When I read that prompt, an idea was sparked, so I thought I’d give it a shot. The only thing is that I have a very short time to write a 2,000 word story – so a good amount of time was spent on that.

About the time that the sun was going down, I was in need of a break from my writing. Seeing how nice the evening was, I decided to go for a short walk which took me all the way around King’s Cross Railroad Station. The full moon was absolutely beautiful in the clear, evening sky (the clearest it has been in quite a while) and the wind wasn’t nearly as strong and biting as it has been the past few days. On the way back, I stopped into a convenience store for some sugar for my tea, whiskey and chocolate.

When I got back to NIDO I decided that I would celebrate my own solo version of Valentine’s Day a little early, as most of tomorrow will likely be spent with friends and I am doubtful that I will get much time for myself. This perfect solo Valentine included all my favorite things: no homework, time spent writing while listening to classic rock, playing my guitar, drinking Jack and Coke and eating chocolate while watching my favorite movie; Donnie Darko. Now, contrary to what some are probably thinking, no this is not a bitter middle finger to the institution of Valentine’s Day itself. I think it is perfectly fine, and am rather impartial to it; I don’t hate it, but I don’t love it either. But this is a fairly constant perspective and one that hasn’t changed with my relationship status. No, honestly, I am kind of using it as an excuse to have a little “me-time” with a night of all my favorite things.

I don’t regret my relationship, but neither do I disdain being single. If anything, I am rather enjoying being single again, and I feel that it is a good place for me to be at the moment. This doesn’t mean that I’ve been void of emotion regarding my recent breakup; believe me, the usual feelings are there. But over the past year, I feel as though I have steadily come to some realizations about myself and my own personal beliefs. I feel as though I have, in a way, come to the realization that I don’t fully believe in what we call “love.” With aver 50% of the country being affected by divorce, and the recent example a little closer to home, I just don’t feel like it is something that complete faith can be placed in to last. Now don’t get me wrong, I do think it happens and to quite a few people. But my inner cynic can’t help but wonder how “happy” the majority of those other relationships really are. The sliver that is left, that’s the prize, the exception to the rule that everyone dreams of. But as with fame or wealth, I feel as though it belongs to a select, and lucky minority. Being the pessimist that I am, I just can’t bank on finding that kind of lasting love in a union that encompasses a lifetime – the odds just aren’t good enough for me. But the realization I have recently had is that I can be fine with that. I don’t need to be married in order to feel validated, and I have other things that my attention, heart and soul can be absorbed by. Besides, I am rather doubtful that I am cut out for that kind of devotion and responsibility for another person; I am not even sure I want kids for the same reason. I don’t think I would have what it takes to be a wife or mother; and the paranoia that would ensue of affecting a husband, or more especially a child, with the aspects of my personality that are less than desirable would be enough to drive me mad with worry. They would be better for it without some of my influences. I’ve never had an aversion to being alone. Single, I can remain fluid; travel, move for work easily, spend more time with family, live in smaller, more affordable places, and so on.  I don’t shut out the idea that maybe I’ll be one of the lucky ones that gets struck by that lightning; but I don’t bank everything I have on it. Sometimes, I am not sure that I even want it at all. Nor would I have to endure the heart-shattering experience of having it fall through; that’s something I never want to be remotely near again, and not something I would ever dream of putting my child through. So perhaps this is the better option, maybe this is what I am suited for, maybe I am meant for other things; and I know there are others out there who feel the same. To each his own.

NOW: on a different note, if your interest was at all sparked by my mention of writing a short story, please consult the next blog post...