pale drops of water...

It was like small pale drops of water that buried slid themselves under my collar as we sat hand in hand in Liszt Ferenc ter, talking about my crazy demons. Talking sometimes without saying very much, just the simple knowledge that he cares enough to sit with me and my sour flavoured crying face and at least try and find out what's wrong... it can't be easy for him either.
and it made me think of what heroics Gareth was also capable of- those highgate horrors, and I wish just a little bit, that I had the chance to talk to him like an adult, and say thank you and sorry, because I would mean it this time.
Only now, lying in bed with B, our rotund bodies curved around each other, do I fully understand what Dale meant, when he said he felt safe with me. I have never felt this safe before in my life. Not because I'm a piss-weak little woman (though these days I am that too) but just because it's this velvety certainty, this knowledge, more than a feeling, of belonging.
and that ticket can burn a hole in my pants, I can wait till May...I might grumble much and sound ungrateful, but I'm not.

Chugging along day by day...

unable to ignore

the ticket itches in my pocket like it's about to catch fire. I can feel the sparks heating the outside of my thigh and when I put my hand in my pocket I pull it right back out again, tips of my fingers red raw and smoking.
The calendar dates are the same bright orange as the embers of a young fire. I can think of little else. Okay, I can think of nothing else. This is a particularly uncomfortable situation considering the amount of thinking work I need to get done this week, but the shadow of home grows ever larger.

the rut, the rut...

sinking with my ticket in my pocket, I am wading unsuccessfully through the quagmire of line-lengths, letters and bills to pay, through the endless questions I raise to myself about confidence and belief and the esteemed esteem I allow myself...now and then, but increasingly rarely.

shrivelling, like a somewhat homeless gollum, a yoda of contemporary proportions, mind young and soul ancient, shrivelling, on the proverbial moss covered rock, strapped and trapped, sea growing around me, not turquoise like the Indian, but dark and inky, not like any ocean I have loved. And I am alone.

I crave solitude, and I crave an end to my loneliness. The burning ticket in my pocket could be the answer, but how can I wait that long?

A weekend of mostly just the two of us. As if we were adults.

Yesterday was spent in a haze of work and study, as was most of today, but we made an amazing roast pork dinner, with much wine and luscious roast vegies and watched a (bruce willis) film and then snuggled down into bed like the world belonged to us.
Aside from the (admittedly shrinking) stress of the thesis and the ever-present worry about the future, I'm pretty damn smileful :-)

I start work again tomorrw- visa section this time. Ah, to have that order back in my life.

I had an unbelievably vivid dream last night. About fidelity and about Adam, but it left such a strong and heavy mood on my day that I can still remember it clearly.

Tonight it's french fries and onion and an early night.
There's a strange frustration in the air- a tension, like the tendons of the night are pulled tight and the smallest twang alerts them to our fears...but it's what makes it all interesting, the twanging and the testing of unknown waters.

Worms...

Yesterday, I was eating like it was going out of fashion...and I said to B "I think I have caterpillars"...ah the Hungarian language is a labyrinth of laughs :-)

Yesterday was decent, though I grow tired so easily... and B and I spent happy close minutes walking the smelly streets in our tracky dacks, and I felt like I was home.

Today's been even better. Got a really early start, made B breakfast and saw him off to an event he's writing about. I've got an appointment with a doctor later today about my hand, I've cleaned our room, put washing on and thought about the future a bit too...

I'm doing my own writing now, and the thought of moonlit porches, cups of tea and uggboots under the southern cross is making me happy now, rather than sad.

Here's to hope.

well, whether hormones or sadness or confusion, today has been bearable so far.
had a tossy turny sleep but felt safe and although I'm tired I'm seeing things a little more clearly today.
And of course I don't hate myself I just hate the helplessness of being in a place I've lost the map to.

Even if I am living a life that doesn't actually exist, it's a pretty nice life. And B is cooking lunch tomorrow! :-)

tonight and answers

so tonight (that I might see)

a little wine (semillon - peter lehmann) a little smoke, a little company. And though I love this company, I love these guys so much it makes my toes curl, I still feel bloody alone. Alone because at the end of the day- what am I here? Who and what and what for?

I went to a lovely jazz concert today, and when I was ordering beer Mob said what's wrong with you? And I said much, and I said everything. I said I hate myself so much it frightens me. And it was good and true and thick and difficult because he said the things I already know to be true. He said you just have to do what it is that you need to do, you have to do what you reckon will make you happy.
And Banana thinks -- yes it will do to be brave, and yes, it will be worth it because what you risk reveals what you value. And I love B, I do I love him more than anyone; more than anyone I've moved to London for, more than anyone I've loved in London. But if I am to be worth him, then I have to be okay with myself.

So here goes. Banana on another adventure. And I'm going to try- after this thesis is finished, I'm going to give ME a real go.

...

Budapest, and cigarettes, and semillon wine and tomorrow...and then?
(you're not allowed to say 'no and then')
And in the purple night, with the funny diamond coloured stars I sometimes - sometimes - think, that I truly am the luckiest girl in the world...

bedtime!

...

I wonder if I'm losing my mind...there are real shades of that old London sickness resurfacing and it terrifies me. I don't want to cry in Tesco's for no reason ever again. Moods are so up and down it's outrageous.
And I find myself losing patience with B and being silly and hysterical, and then I'll just stop and look at him and let his big bear self hold me and I realise I love him with this simple certainty that at the end of the day won't take any shit from anyone.

Gotta go, got a thesis to write...

better

It was hormones. Mostly.
But inklings still remain - of inadequacy, of not feeling appreciated...
God just let these next few weeks be over, thesis sent off, and then I'm going to treat myself to three days of solitude somewhere in the backwaters of this strange little country.
Today - a new library, lunch with B at a little socialist type foody bar, and then writing. And it's going reasonably well.
I want to have more proper quality time to spend, not just hours and hours sat in front of our computers, together apart.

Have I mentioned how far away home feels?

Up and down...

I feel like I'm sinking again. Not thesis wise, or not only thesis wise, but also home wise, life wise.
I was sitting in an Indian restaurant at lunch on Friday, and the thought came to me: I'm living a life that doesn't exist...
And it's true. Although I have my things to do, I'm just drifting... thesis, phd, and cooking...what else do I do? What else is there? And what will come after?

I find myself getting needlessly jealous of B more than usual, and asking questions which only serve to poison. But I mean, who am I kidding? I'm living a half life here, because I spend half of it pining for somewhere I am not, for things you can't get here, for things that are different there, better, easier less trying. And B is never going to want to move to Australia. He's got his life here. A proper, established life filled with mates that love him, and whom he loves back. The kind of life I yearn for.

It's a shame- today started so brilliantly. It started early, with a short run on the island and a healthy breakfast (avocadoes and memories) and then I wanted to start writing more of the thesis, but then B wrote about how he had this great talk with Richie's girlfriend and how he adores her because she's cool and intelligent, which is all well and good, I reckon she's great too, but then he wrote that he's so proud of his mother tongue (which is also fair enough, don't get me wrong) but how will he ever want to spend time in my home if he's so completely okay here?

I really need some time on my own. I need to finish this damn piece of work and then figure out what's to be next. This insane spending of money on myself and expensive meals alone just to gain a few hours of discrete silence.

I've just gone down a slope again, and yet yesterday I was so happy... strange times. Are they ever going to get un-strange?

Solitary

I wanted to be, tonight, but it didn't work out quite that way.
I bought the wine...even though it was 3699HUF I bought it, because it reminded me a little of those Alkoomi wines Remy and I shared on Sundays in Freo, with cheese and grapes. And I wanted the wine to help me remember.
I had a killer day at the library, at home working, at the gym sweating shameless buckets. But I yearn to be a little bit by myself. I have real trouble saying that to people, be it mum or Balint or anyone...but today, after the library as I walked through the already cold city in my bright green cardy and clackety shoes, I thought I AM happy, but I need some Bananatime to temper the rush.
Seven months and I'm going home. And if it kills me, by god I'm going to spend some time down south, breathing the air, watching the sea, and remembering how fucking FUCKING lucky I truly am.
It's 11pm, Balint is at a concert with mates, and the movie mum watched with me is over. The bottle of wine is finished, I'm sipping some lemonade that Balint made, and then I'm going to read one or maybe two of Murakami's short stories that I bought in the CEU bookshop yesterday.
I'm full of this yearning that is not really strong enough to make me feel unsatisfied, but I can definitely feel a scratching....a readiness to do something else. Four weeks, and I'll have the most shit hot thesis this side of the black stump!