For the first few weeks, I didn't care. Everything and everyone was new, and I was learning new things everyday. I was proving to myself and everyone else that I was capable of doing something else, something different, and that I could change the course of my life whenever I felt like it. I could take the plunge. More importantly, I could show everyone that even if I got a few bruises on the way, I would survive (I always do) - as would anyone else who had the guts to do it.
Then, the Routine slowly crept in, as she always does, walking on her tip-toes and then, slowly but suddenly, she engulfs everything with her giant mouth. It starts when the Repetition, that chubby old lady with gray hair becomes a regular visitor, until she transmutes herself into Predictability - her more sophisticated version. Then Repetition/Predictability's lover, Boredom, arrives to keep her company for as long as he is able to stay, until Crisis, that lunatic but extremely seductive chick, storms in the room and drives everyone crazy. That is, if the sweet Depression - or as I like to call her, The Darkness - doesn't jumps in front of her to show off her little trick of making the colours of everything fade into a lifeless gray.
Now, I'm bored.
I'm on that famous stage when that three-word question keeps popping inside one's head: IS THIS IT?
The days fly by, one after another, endlessly and meaninglessly. I just keep on going, looking for distractions: alcohol, shopping, magazines, small talk and mindless conversations with semi-strangers. Almost everyone around me is a semi-stranger. I don't know what they want, what they like, what they're thinking most of the time. What is important to them. And to be honest, neither do they about me. Not that either sides are interested in knowing all that, anyway.
I don't feel like saying "sorry", or "thank you", or "excuse me", the trinity that holds together British civilization and which I have proudly absorbed in my own daily vocabulary (an achievement, considering Brazilians traditionally reject their own version of those expressions).
And it's been only a month and a half of the new life.
But there's a positive side to all this: I'm no longer afraid of throwing the towel. Predictable as it is to start making plans every end of the year, I can soundly say that my hours now are being spent daydreaming and lining-up all the catalysts for a new life. In 2008 I want to eat well, exercise often, sleep better (not necessarily more), lie down in the sun, see more friends, have great conversations, have sex more often, read great books, and write as much as I can. I want to have all those small but essential things that make anyone happy, whatever the background or class is, but that are absolutely scarce once you become a Londoner.
In 2008, I'm gonna get out of London for a while.