My Mumbling Thoughts

I woke up at exactly eight o'clock this morning when my alarm started buzzing.

Exactly at eight o'clock. Not 7:58 or 8:03 in the morning. Eight on the dot.

I loafed around the flat for four hours before I actually decided that I should have a shower. I fluffed around for a couple more hours getting ready with no real place to go. I made some food. I chatted shit with Trish for a bit. And finally, finally around half three in the afternoon, I decided to do some work. Perhaps look at some jobs, since I'm unemployed, yet again, and am poor, yet again.

I found a couple of jobs with potential and applied for them. I'm keeping all of my fingers and toes crossed for one in particular, mostly because it's a lazy job that pays pretty decent. I'd only have to work for two hours every day, and I could work from home. Easy as cake, and it's working on Powerpoint, which is something I've been playing with for fun since I was twelve. I recieved an email back from a man named, Roger, who said that they would consider my CV (resume) and get back to me.

We want this job for Sammi Jo. Sammi Jo would ROCK this job. And now Sammi Jo will stop speaking in third person because it's really annoying.

However, before I spent a few hours job searching, I found myself in a place that seems to be comforting to me. It wasn't until about ten minutes of sitting at my window, staring out into nothing in particular, that I realized this was probably another form of a security blanket for me. All last year, I would find myself perched at my window, kneeling on my bed that was pushed up against the wall, and staring out over Digby below me. I would do this for ages, occasionally leaving to check what was new on the internet, or to go into the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea.

I haven't really done it here at the flat, mostly because my view isn't anything special. I have a messy garden below and another set of boring flats to look at across the way. Today, though, I found myself in a familar mood that I used to get in last year, and subsequently found myself in a familar place at my window.

I watched people come and go from the other flats, saw a few people walking down the street, and watched the big, ginger cat that lives in our neighborhood wander around for a bit. And I stared. I blatantly stared, but I wasn't thinking about what I was staring at. I was thinking about why am I in this "blah" mood. It's not the weather; it rains in England. That has always been a known fact. I'm not sad, and I'm not fantastically happy either. I'm not anything really. If I had to put an emotion to it, I would probably just pick bored. I'm so ridiculously bored with everything.

I continued to think about it, and it's all my fault that I'm bored. Yes, I have coursework to do, and yes I need to be actively figuring out how to get money in my hands and fast, but I'm just so bored with everything I can't really be bothered to do anything about it.

The circles went round and round in my brain, and after thinking about how bored I've been recently, I eventually got angry with myself. Why did I let things get like this? Why am I constantly blabbing on about the same shit all the time? Am I not the person who is always saying if you don't like something, then fucking do something about it? Don't just sit around on your ass and wish for things to happen. Get out there and make shit happen. That's the only way it's going to happen. Sure, for some people things may magically fall into their laps, but for those of us that aren't as fortunate, we have to bust our asses to get what we want and deserve.

I mentally shouted at myself, in a manner that Momma would have done so, and kicked myself in the ass for falling down, yet again, and forced myself to stop being so goddamned lethargic, because it's really pissing me off. Then I gave myself a hug and a bowl of ice-cream, because shouting at myself like that sometimes hurts my feelings.

The good thing is that I'm able to recognize that I'm feeling this way and can put a stop to it a lot faster, rather than letting it consume me until things get so bad that I have to have someone else come in and clean everything up for me. It's fine if I stumble every so often. For me, it's kind of expected. Things aren't always so peachy and rose colored for me. I don't sail along on smooth waters. No, I'm in the fucking ocean in the middle of a hurricane without a life jacket all the time.

I'm in London. I'm a 22-year-old single white female that goes to uni and is a writer. I'm a writer goddammit. I write. And I'm confident (well, I can portray confidence pretty well). And I'm qualified. I have skills. I can do things really well. And other things that I'm not great at, we won't worry about because they're no use. I'm ready, I'm willing and I want my life in London to change for me. For the better.

For the better.