Saturday, September 27, 2008

Coming home. It's not something I'm too fond of. I can't say that I'm from a broken household, in fact, despite the years that I've had growing up by the sea with a stereotypical nuclear family (with the pleasures of compulsive gambling, alcohol dependency and manic depression), it would appear that I stand somewhere in the middle of the line of mediocrity.

I should be writing this update from somewhere in my nation's capital city. The ever so slight hangover bothering me should be the result of a night's celebratory drinking for completing two weeks at Front. It is neither.

Once again I find myself on the bus to Falmouth. The shit hit the fan in London. After a week (of a believed two week stay) with my friend Felix, I was ousted by his housemates. With little money and no friends to provide shelter, my only (feasible) option was to get the first train back home. It's been less than a week since this happened, but I feel that enough time has passed to assess my shortcomings. I'd like to think that I've calmed down somewhat as well.


I've been sat with my laptop (strategically positioned on my lap) for half an hour now and it seems that I still am not able to comprehend (or at least write about) what went wrong. The embarrassing fact is: I failed. I set out to do something and it did not work. My plans relied on the help of others and that was not provided to the extent that I expected. Whereas I was angry at those who put me in the position of failure (that's you asshole housemates) on Sunday, the truth of the matter is it is my fault for believing in anyone but myself. The irony is after fucking up to such an extent, I'm not sure I have my trust in my own abilities either.

I'm lucky though that I'm not reduced to a withering fool, curled up in the corner of some tube station, gripping on to my possessions. I'm lucky that someone believes in the world, and more importantly (to my selfish focus) believes in me. It's easy to forget what you're capable of when you don't do anything for so long, and I think that's been a problem that I've been facing in the last we.. Oh God, this has fallen into a JD from Scrubs kind of self assessment, wrap up summary. Let's make this a bit more Coxian:

Shit went bad. I foolishly thought I could rely on others. Through the help of someone that is not me (Ol, my love, so technically an extension of me) I found my way back home. The distrust of others (through my own, and those I have relied upon in this country) has become abundantly clear. This is why, in one week I will not be afraid to go to a foreign country to try again. I may not have such a grip on their language as I do on my own. But I have the vaguest belief that if I can have some time for and trust in people, I might just get some in return.