My Mumbling Thoughts

I have decided that the next man I want to be with must be insanely tall and have a well-groomed beard.

This morning. I decided that this morning on the bus.

I do realize that about 87% of the people on this great big planet are a lot taller than me, but I want a man who is like, really tall. Like, people will wonder how we have sex because he's so tall and I'm so short.

I'm not sure why I've all of a sudden taken an interest in beards, but there ya go.

Recently, I've been doing a lot of thinking. I know most of it has to do with the insane amount of alone time I had in the flat last week, but all of those thoughts that have been following me like baby ducklings all tied to a string since I first arrived here, decided to grow into mean, scary, evil birds that took that string they were tethered to, tie it around my neck and choke me. It wasn't fun, people, I'll tell you that now. It was, well, crazy. Insane. I would not do well in a torture camp. In fact, it would be really easy to torture me just by leaving me alone for a long period of time, because by the last day I'll be ready and willing to tell you all of my deepest darkest secrets without a second thought.

I'm sure that I could have done something to alleviate the thoughts that were plaguing me, but I decided to sit and savor each of them, to roll around in them all and let them soak through all of my pores into my blood stream. I was drenched in The Past, and it finally got to the point where I really was going to do something crazy if I didn't figure out a way to just let it all go.

Fucking hell, Samantha Leigh, let it go.

But I couldn't. I just sat there and let my imagination run amok, and it got really morbid to where I started thinking about the "well, what if he died? Or I died?" scenarios. Would I really want to die knowing that I never did anything? Would I want to be That Girl that just had yet another mental weekend? How much more was I willing to take? I had wasted a day and a half allowing myself to sit and soak in my guilt. I was disgusting.

Hence the email to Ash. It took me nearly three hours to write an email that was long, but not long enough or short enough. Nearly three hours where I scrutinized every comma, every word, and made sure that things that needed to be capitalized were capitalized, or that I hadn't forgotten a word in my nervous haste. Nearly three hours of me analyzing what This would mean, or what That would mean. Was I even getting my message across, or was I just rambling on like some fucked up ex-girlfriend that had gone all psycho? Probably both.

Then I thought maybe I was just doing this because I'm all alone and fucked up. Maybe I should do something, like call someone and have a two hour conversation? Maybe that would make it go away? Maybe I would remember that I'm not crazy, but just having a Crazy Moment?

But that would only be a distraction, and every single time I was alone I would be back exactly where I started with nothing accomplished. So I sent it. And then I cried like a motherfucker. But goddamn, it was one of those really good cries that I haven't had in a very long time. Healthy.

Learn from the past, instead of longing for it.

That wasn't the only thing I thought about, though, while I was sitting and squirming over The Past. I also thought about The Future, and what I want to do. I mean, what do I really want to do? My third and final year is fast approaching, and I should start constructing a plan for life post uni. I've always had the very vague thought of staying here in the UK after I graduate, all based purely on If's -- If I get a job here. If someone hires me. If I can find a place to stay. -- There's nothing solid about it. But then I thought, maybe I should move?

And that thought sparked a New Plan. A new, more definite and solid plan.

London is my lover. I fucking love this city so much it pains me. However, it can be rather difficult at times. If I could, I would put my relationship status on facebook as "it's complicated with London". Sometimes we fight and I cry, or I'll scream back in anger and the city will finally ease up on me and then we'll make up (always my favorite part). There are so many wonderful things about living here, I can't even bring myself to make a list, because it's never ending. Even the things I don't like, I secretly love, because hey, that's just London for you.

But -- yes, the 'but' -- I'm starting to get that all too familiar feeling I usually get after being somewhere for two or three years. That's what happens when you're a military brat and are so used to uprooting your entire life. It's time for me to get a move on, scrap everything I know and try again elsewhere.

Which is why I've decided if all the If's don't work out for me, I'm going to try my luck in New York and see what happens.

I was supposed to go last summer with Helz and Jon, but had to cancel because of work (blah!). And I've fought with Momma about spending my third year of uni there. But now I feel a lot more ready about going after uni. It just made so much sense when I thought about it. Why visit when you can live there? I am definitely a city gal, and moving to New York has so many pros: I would be really close to home, which is what I like the most about New York being located where it's located. As much as I love London with all of the beautiful accents and being able to travel easily to so many different countries, New York is only a mere three hours away from home. I could still have my own, separate life in the Big City, and Momma and Mel could be easily reached if I needed to go back, or just wanted to go back for a weekend. Besides, London has trained me well, and I'm sure I would work it out just fine in New York, just like how I did here.

I've thought about it, and I can picture myself there. I want to get a job in a publishing house, or work for a magazine company, or be some low-end newbie at a newspaper office. I'll look for a small, over-priced apartment (they don't call 'em 'flats' over there), where I'll hopefully not get broken into or have to dodge bullets, and eat amazing chinese food every night. It's going to be scary (because New York is so scary to me), but it's going to be brilliant, and I'll make it work and fit, just like how London is to me now.

Of course I'm not leaving just yet. It is still just a thought, a plan, an idea. Something could change a year from now, and I'll have to start all over again with a completely different route. But right now, that plan sounds the most promising, and the best one I've had. And I still have one more year in London before it's time for me to put any kind of final ending on anything. So for right now, I'll just curl up in London's arms and enjoy the time we have together.