THIRTEEN TALES FROM URBAN MORAVIA

The funniest (unintentionally so, I can only assume) text that I've received in a good long time goes like this (and I quote): "Hi claire, hope your good-bye part went fine on sat. sorry 4 not being there. pity that the last weeks have turned out not so cool between us. my fault, i know. well, hope i didn't make ur stay here too shitty. it was nice 2 hang out w u. wish you all the best in ur future. take care. m."

I was actually speechless, after laughing so hard, for a good 10 minutes but when I did call back to let him know my thoughts on his message, he (of course) didn't pick up. I sent him a less than impressed message in response, which (of course) he will never respond to.

I mean. I'm not even mad. It's just amazing that even to the very end, he's nothing but a massive douche.

Friends, my ass.

I'm working on the last 10% of my dissertation and althoug it would be possible to just sit down, write the fucking thing and be done with it, I almost don't want to be done with it. Because when I am done with it, I won't have anything else to do. Like, really, nothing else except for spending a few hours a week helping out at work. THAT'S IT. Scary thought.

I just caught myself talking in German to myself about my dissertation. I've become so disheartened by most of the people I know in London that I've stuck to a pretty basic routine; get up, either go to work or go to the library, go to the gym, come home, eat, work again, sleep. I tried making plans with someone today but in the end I just got so frustrated at the way I'm so routinely pushed down the priorities list that I gave up and told them to forget the whole thing. I know that I should want to spend time with people right now, considering that so many will be leaving for other things soon, but either I end up resenting the time I waste making an effort when they don't or I end up resenting them for the things they'll be leaving for soon that made me think I should see them in the first place. I really would prefer to sit at home and talk to myself, than try to muster up enough interest in other people's lives to go see them.

Back in London and it feels as if I never left. Even though I hardly spent any time in my new flat before going to Toronto, I don't feel any real excitement connected to living in a new neighbourhood, sorting out a new routine, taking a new bus. It all feels the same. Other than my trip to Berlin next week, there's nothing to be excited about. I don't even want to socialise; I just want to find a quiet spot in Senate House and get on with work. I feel really selfish but I just don't feel like I have the energy or the interest to keep tabs on everyone and to share my time. I don't want to catch up, I don't want to hear about summer holidays and I don't want to hear about dissertations. But soon enough, I'll be basically on my own here, people have left or are about to leave, and I don't know what I'll do next. I'm not used to not having a plan, I've spent the last half decade with something to work towards and now I've got nothing going. It's a weird position to be in - I don't want to be around anyone but I know that soon enough, I won't have much choice but to be alone and I know that I'll be even worse off then.

 My flight was five hours late landing in Toronto on Tuesday night and although that would normally put me in a rage beyond words, I just didn't care. I was too glad to be leaving London. When I arrived at Gatwick to check in, I was told that the flight would be two hours delayed. Not a problem, I had books and what's two hours when you don't have anything else to do, anyways? So I had final terrible, overpriced English coffee at apostrophe and waited. The flight itself was fine, I was too stuck into my books to mind. But just before landing in Toronto, the captain told us that we'd have to circle for 10-15 minutes. Again, fine, what's 10-15 minutes anyways? However, when they showed the screen with the time to distance, speed, elevation etc., it said that we were 47 minutes to destination and no matter how long we circled, it stayed at 47 minutes. (It then occured to me that A) Zoom and the Czechs must know something about time control that I don't and that B) we weren't going to be landing in 10-15 minutes) Eventually, the captain announced that we'd have to go to Ottawa to land because there was a thunderstorm that we couldn't land in and that we would run out of fuel before we'd be able to land. So back to Ottawa we went, where we sat on the runway for about 15 minutes before it was announced that we'd be leaving in 15 minutes. When we did finally land in Toronto, we had to taxi for another 15-20 minutes before getting a gate at the terminal. But it didn't matter. Because when the captain signed off the final current weather conditions and local time at destination update with "and if Toronto is your home...welcome home", I couldn't help but tear up.

It hasn't taken many days back in Toronto to fully realise that London isn't the place for me; it isn't home. They're small things that I miss when I'm there, small things that I have a hard time getting over. When was the last time I had a good coffe in London? When was the last time I spent a day in sandals without coming home at the end of the day with completely blackened feet? When was the last time I stood perfectly still and felt completely, wholly warm, inside or outside? When was the last time someone from one of my regular haunts noticed when I wasn't around and asked where I'd been? When was the last time I woke up to birds and went to sleep with total silence coming in the open window?

London is big, busy, filthy, perpetually damp and completely anonymous. It's overpriced, pretentious and self-important. It's such a pervasively annoying city; it won't shut up, it won't go away. I don't want to go back.

I've never been one to excel at math or math related things. In fact, I usually scrapped a passing mark all throughout high school, most likely because the teachers couldn't stand the thought of my on-going stupidity in the next year's class. However, it doesn't take a geometry -or physics-wizz to understand that the volume of stuff contained in my flat just isn't going to fit into my suitcases. I packed up an entire printer-sized-box full of books to ship back to Canada and naively thought that that would solve my problems. I conveniently avoided addressing the fact that despite that shipment, I still have other books that I've deemed "useful" for either my dissertation or some other, yet to be defined purpose, along with the few novels I've recently purchased as a reward for reading nothing about academic works since October, DVDs, Czech workbook, textbooks and dictionaries, the printer that provided the aforementioned box, boots, Wellies, sandals, shoes for all descriptions, odd-shaped drying racks, an iron, two sets of towels and bed linen, a comforter (maybe two?), pillows, garden gnomes, a plant, a set of pots, plates, tea cups, cutlery and mountains of clothes, jackets, scarfs, bags and enough socks, bras and underpants to see me in*. I don't know where it all came from. Superficially, yes, I know it all came from shops were I myself purchased the thermal socks I needed for Prague at Christmas or dress I needed for the Canada-UK Business Chamber lunch. When it's all spread out, it seems manageable and reasonable. But now that I'm trying to fit it all into two suitcases and a large, blue IKEA bag, I can't help but wonder if my stuff has been secretly multiplying when I turn out the lights at night. 






*This is after I purged four shopping bags stuffed full of unworn clothes and ill-conceived Christmas gifts sent over by my family to do nothing but collect dust.

Now that I've finished my last exam, I feel justified in starting to think about going back to Toronto. I'm going back for three weeks in July and since I have no idea where I'll be in September, I'm using the trip to bring back all sorts of crap that I a) will have to bring back anyways, if I come back to Toronto for good, or b) will not be able to take with me if I go to Brussels, Prague or Budapest and won't need if I stay in London. I just packed up books in the box my printer came in and thankfull, they all fit. Unfortunately, they also weigh a fucking ton. I really really really don't want to think about what it'll cost to send to Toronto; even sent surface mail, it's going to be horrifying. I'm staring at a huge stack of printed articles, probably a foot tall, and have no idea what to do with them all. Keep them? They might be useful? Sometime?

It's very strange to have to cut down your belongings to fit into two suitcases. On the one hand, I'm enjoying purging and organising. On the other hand, it's a reminder that my life is so up in the air that I have to cut down my belongings to fit into two suitcases, because I could be headed in any number of directions. I've already started to pack clothes into a suitcase, clothes I know that I want to take back, bags I don't need, bits of pieces of paper and cards that I'm too nostalgic to throw away. Technically, I could just donate all of this stuff - but I won't. I can't bring myself to do it. I might not ever use/wear this stuff again, but I don't want to get rid of it. My personality really isn't suited to this sort of thing, I attach too much nostalgic value to useless, useless things. 

I just don't know how to break my life down into 20kg units.

• I went to the library this morning to try to get some work done and ended up being hit on by some guy who used "Soo have you ever written an exam like this before?" as his opening line. I mistook him for gay and an undergrad but I was mistaken on both counts - he's apparently a Master's student and asked me to lunch and then dinner and then promptly followed up via facebook to ask whether I'm free this Wednesday or Thursday for dinner.
• Friday evening, as I was getting ready to go out for a friend's birthday, I discovered that one of my flatmates had achieved what I can only assume she'd been aiming for (given past/daily experiences) since we moved in - to completely flood the shower. How did she do this? I have no idea. But she somehow managed to flood not only the shower room itself but the entire hallway in front of it AND into the bathroom next door. Obviously, I had to find another shower.
• Saturday, I came home from grocery shopping to find someone had moved a huge bag of something onto the shelf I use in the fridge. There are two fridges in the kitchen and I use one shelf in the mini-fridge. The rest of the fridge space is just not something I want to know about. I moved it, so that I could put my groceries there. Today, I opened the fridge to find a note on my shelf with "Don't touch my shit. I'll throw your shit!" written in large letters. I wrote back to explain that I'd only moved someone's "stuff" because I needed room for my own groceries and pointed out that I've always used that shelf. Given that this bitch seems, at best, to have some kind of personality flaw that does not allow her to react rationally, I fee justified in fearing for my food.
• Walking down Southamton Row this afternoon, I saw a hobo sitting outside a café, removing his disgusting, shit-stained pants. Rather, I should say, his disgusting, shit-stained trousers AND pants. I saw dirty hobo penis in public, touching a chair that people use to eat or drink in. Not twenty seconds later, I past an equally filthy man with trousers belted up around his chest, shaking and tottering along as he muttered to himself.
• I'm waiting to hear back from three organisations, concerning unpaid internships with them after I finish my degree. I've been playing email tag with two of them since April and other than these three "options", I've got nothing come September.
• My latest sleeping habits include hitting the snooze button for 1,5 to 2 hours daily and then having 3-4 hour mid-afternoon naps, because the option of staying conscious is rather too boring or too depressing to deal with.
• After a thoroughly frustrating an unpleasant coffee date with my group of "friends" last week, I decided that I derive little to no pleasure from their company. They're selfish, self-absorbed and seem to have no real interest in having friends, just bodies to talk at. If I try to make myself heard above and beyond the general "memememememememememememe" I'm either talked over and completely ignored or told that what I just said just isn't true because it contradicts someone's exceptionally narrow opinion about just about anything. I found myself talking back and generally being quite bitchy to them this last time and although there was some pleasure in that, I just don't have the energy or interest.

Taken together, this is a list of things that make me say, "Fuck, I'm tired of this shit."

Bruno Ganz + Der Untergang + pop culture references = amazing

This email (from today) really made me laugh : 


Course Outline from 05-06 Exchange
ISXO to undisclosed-re.
show details 9:24 PM (1 hour ago) Reply

 

Dear student,

If you have been notified by our office that your transfer credits are
complete and you have received your transfer credit assessment letter,
provided that you are not petitioning any credits at the moment, you may
pick up your course outlines from our office. Please notify us a day
ahead so that we will have them ready when you come.

Thank you for your attention,
Sonia
--

International Student Exchange Office
University of Toronto

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Um...really? Is it possible that the Exchange Office is just that bad with email communications? Why would they think that anyone would want that information back now? I don't get it.