This life of mine is killing me. With my heart already split in two, i’m looking for a third piece to add to this confusion puzzle. My mind wonders while my brain is still processing some recently learned Swedish words. 1 more year to go and then i might be gone. Not back home, for i have a twisted notion of the word, but to Stockholm. I’m seriously considering doing my MA there and i’m starting to take these little steps in that direction.

There are things i want to do, places i want to see, and i cannot decide if i want to leave the UK. I am working for a respectable (albeit too big) corporation, they pamper me with discounts for London’s main attractions (not that i’d want to do anything else than stroll along the smallish streets, alas), a good pay rate and what is most important a ton of respect (which is a nice change from my other workplace). I do this and that for a film director, I’ve seen my name credited on the big screen, met Nicholas Roeg and am making my own (crappy, mind) films, so mrs Life is giving me quite the royal treatment this year (if i don’t count the emotional foul play i’m in). and yet and yet.

I miss the excitement of moving, starting over from scratch and so on. On the other hand, i enjoy working hard towards accomplishing this new life i’ve started more than one year ago. The ‘miss’ factor is still there. What’s up with me and my enthusiasm wearing off so quickly? There are the things i know, and the things i have a notion of, but can barely understand. And as of late, it seems i’ve been concentrating on the latter, rather than proofing the others. And by concentrating i don’t mean trying to understand, but desperately hanging on to acceptance.

It seems that the only time i feel comfortable is when i am filming. I don’t mind doing 14 hrs without any break (as long as there is tea that is), i don’t mind the people around me not having a clue about what i am trying to say. It’s so different when you can actually visualise your thoughts and ideas. I don’t know how that goes, but sometimes i think the whole process resembles giving birth. And then there are the jokes, the quarrels, the oh-i-don’t-eat-pizza-let-me have-a-bite, the chinese food cooked by my chinese friends, girly sleep overs in the same house, days spent reading and writing, hours of brainstorming, you know, the works. The good stuff. The things that make one love the life. This is just my bit, to each his own. This is what makes me happy, and i know sometimes i exaggerate asking of everyone else to love it to the same extent i do. To sacrifice their nights, their health, all their braincells (if any) for this.

I’m sure at some point i’ll find people on the same wavelenght, but i don’t know if my duty is to wait or to go out there and look for them and new opportunity. All these thoughts are playing hide and seek inside my mind, it is confusing but at the same time quite nice. It’s more like writing a story without having a plan, you add things as you go along, but you also forget some.

This is just my one, and at this point, i don’t know where to take it. I need new characters new places and less gloomy feelings. As one step at a time does not really work in the world i live in, i’ll somersault through whatever lies ahead (then come back, think again, regret, but move on with another flip). Hejdå.

ps: nevermind my grammar, waking up at 4am, going back to bed at 10 and having a dream about a potential lover high on morphine make this bunny a less coherent one.

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