Insomniac Musings

It's late, I can't sleep and I feel like a shitty person for waking my friend up.

See, I was lying on the pillow and I felt genuinely tired until I started to think. Don't you hate that? When your thoughts and your silent mind-rambling creep into the sleepy parts of your brain and whisk you into consciousness? I tried to fall asleep, I really did. But suddenly, for no specific reason, I started vividly imagining how it would feel like to visit school again. I sound like a corny idiot, trust me, even I'm surprised because I'm not the school-nostalgic type, but this is different. You see, I reconstructed everything in my head and I felt as if I was actually there. In the library, through the corridors, in the cold classrooms on a sleepy Monday morning. And then it hit me: In my reconstructions, every place I visited, was accompanied by people. Familiar faces, friends, acquaintances, teachers.

I realised that from now on, whenever I might choose to visit school, it will be the same place visually, but completely different in its entirety. It will be lacking. Lacking my friend's sleepy morning face, sitting on the wooden bench, warmly wrapped in her coat. Lacking the playful insults exchanged, the gossip flowing around, the heartbreak analysed over Bic pens and notebooks during class. Lacking the way he looked in that baby blue sweater, and the way I got weak in the knees every time we spoke. Lacking the cigarettes we sneaked in between classes. Lacking all the fun. Lacking all the blissful ignorance.

Lacking everything.

My life is so far away from all that now, in every sense. Visiting my school seems bizarre. The fact that we are all supposed to be adults is bizarre. The fact that we're all at university is bizarre. The fact that I'm doing my own laundry is the most bizarre of all!

And though I don't think about it often, sometimes I stand astonished looking at the way time flies by, when you wake up and realise you're not 16 anymore.

I hope writing this, and getting all of it off my chest will help my insomnia.

From now on, I promise to start taking sleeping pills, and not take (all) my bullshit out on the blog.

x.

What London has to offer

to all kinds of compulsive personalities!

Yes, I have decided to do a series of post focusing on what London has to offer to all you psychos out there! No one will be left out (except for heroin addicts and Jesus freaks because they scare the shit out of me). So, here it goes!

London is a multicultural European capital, that provides abundant opportunities in terms of what to do and how to spend your day. The question that arises though... Is London your friend depending on your vice?

Smokers:

Oh, dear smokers, I should inform you early on that London isn't the best place to fuel your lung degenerating addiction. First off, cigarettes here are scary pricey. A 20 pack usually is priced at almost 7 pounds, and a 10 pack at almost 4. Also, the health warnings printed on the packs are accompanied by graphic and disturbing pictures, so even before you get the pack in your hands, everything is working against you. Then, if you choose to disregard the cost and start spending almost 20 pounds a week on cigarettes (yes, you are a junkie), you should be aware that smoking is forbidden in pubs, bars, restaurants, coffee shops and pretty much everywhere.

Now, as any good junkie, you'll say "I don't care, I'll smoke outside" to which I'll reply "good luck getting soaking wet". And then, as any good junkie, you'll say "I don't care I'll smoke in my house/hotel room/dorm room" to which I'll reply "good luck getting past the smoke detectors". But generally, if you indeed are a good junkie you'll find a way to get nicotine in your system. I hear socks and plastic cling film work wonders on smoke detectors. Generally, even though smoking is made as impossible as possible, if you plan to keep smoking you know you will, you filthy nicotine whore. (Yes, I'm referring to myself).

The next post will be dedicated to my alcoholic friends, yes, drinkers, I mean you!