It just fires me up every time still, after being here over a year, seeing things that I can do, that feel right, even if I do have seventeen degrees of Right. Options. I applied for both things in December, got interviews, and only one came through. I chucked the spiky options onto the dirt track and they stuck and some got buried under mud and some stayed on top sticking out and I get to recover them as I pass over them and move forward. Do you need staff? I'd love to be here. Three months maybe? Let's picture change and keep me alive. It's ok to not have a plan. I like it better this way. Surely, actually, if I wanted a plan I'd just get one? I mean, I would? Yes. Let's float.
I am really starting to love Sundays in Dalston. Should get a flyer done for that. I don't know, floating and not knowing who or what is going to happen, and I'm expecting zero from this day except loveliness really, so what can go wrong? I'm starting to see that if I put myself in places I want to be, then it makes a simple, obvious kind of sense that people like me will happen there too. A smashing together. Don't go looking for ideas or people or examples or means. Just put yourself where you want, and then something amazing just happens. You feel alive for one, but then you are buffered by beings, the same but different, who silently console that it's ok, we're ok here, we're alive, you're alive, and isn't it just the best?
I am getting a lot better at chatting to boys. Not just aimlessly hanging around waiting, clueless, but being actually rather scheme-y and calculated about the whole thing. Seeing it as a game, having fun. Things you don't really have to think of or deal with if you are in a boring relationship. Ok, this Mr Maps is cute, yep. I'm looking at the maps, and I'm thinking, I want to buy a map from you Mr Maps. Ok, chat, I'll buy these two. See you later, he says, her voice ringing in my head as I read too much into it, this is a Good Thing. I walk around. You know what, I feel like 'buying another map', remember me Mr Maps, with my Sunday eyes and sportswear. I just have a penchant for washed-out Goo t-shirts, poking through his layers there, they're not original, they're just cool, fuck off Rosalind.
Researching, a different type this time, sat by myself on Ellie's old chair, next to my bike and the canal. A tea tray balanced with equivalent objects to my own, satisfied beyond impeccable belief, dirt blown into my milk. Alex is going out with the girl who's working today...(ok, cute boy, is that you?)...Alex, will you switch seats with me as we're sharing...(ok, he's switching, dammit, he's Alex). Tick. Or cross. God am I wiley. Will you watch my bike whilst I take my tray back, yes it's the Condor...desire me I'm so wiley. Nothing happens, but the experiment is concluded. I leave fueled for a two hour conversation with a pair of strangers in Tina which leaves me thinking it's not weird at all to switch numbers. I get a text later from the wrong one. It's all fun and games.