I also have mashed potato on my jumper, leggings and part of the washing machine. 'How did this happen?' my flatmate asked 'it just did' I replied with tears in my eyes.
Last night I decided to cook butternut squash soup, from scratch, after lying in bed for five hours looking at single-occupancy apartments in Brighton and wondering if I was maximising my existence on God's green earth. In short, I'm not. I want a dog, and I want to walk on the beach and buy a sofa and fall in love with my neighbour as he helps me move a piece of furniture. (That's not really me getting the most out of my life either but it's a parallel universe I'm currently dwelling in). I checked my credit score yesterday as well (don't do this) after I read an article about how dodgy Klarna can be. I was horrified to discover I had an outstanding payment of £50 for a cardigan from & Other Stories. I'm telling you now, hand on heart, I have never missed a bill payment, have a direct debit set up to my credit card and would shudder at the thought of being late on my rent, YET I still spent a sweaty 20 minutes panicking about that fucking cardigan.
I take it back, I love that cardigan.
But also, fuck you cardigan.
Anyway, something is wrong and it extends beyond lockdown, beyond the everyday mundane. It's like a tectonic shift in my very core, a small question mark in the back of my mind that started as a whisper and is now a loud scream; it's telling me to get out of London. Run. Leave. Maybe I have a sixth sense? Maybe I'm clairvoyant? Maybe I'm being overly dramatic (quite possibly). Maybe it's my overriding desire to bolt at various stages of my life because I feel like I've outgrown them, like a lizard shedding its skin. Maybe I should start a cookbook? The only thing really stopping me is the fact that they wouldn't even be my original recipes because they're all just ones I've found on Google and modified by adding more cheese. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
I think I'd miss London too much.
I went to the bathroom and had a flash in the pan moment where I acknowledged how tremendous my skin was suddenly looking and how I feel like I've really grown into my face. Then the mashed potato incident happened and I'm still wearing the same clothes with the starchy residue smeared on the leg where I tried to stop the food sliding down the washing machine.
*Take a deep breath*
I wish Dr Martens would stop sending me so many emails.
I've unsubscribed.
That's it, that's the post. If you resonate with this I just hope you know it's okay to feel this way, all weird and confused and stuck but also not stuck but also just not sure about what's going on at all. There's this total abundance of time to think, reflect, absorb and over analyse. Have you seen The Social Dilemma on Netflix? I've taken a huge step back from all my apps since watching that and have found myself a bit more at peace once I controlled my intake of content online.
Goodbye, 4 now,
Lauren xo
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