A lovely little Boccherini:
I have felt ill and miserable for most of today.
I made a lovely roast chicken, and I am making a beautiful stock from the carcass. I used rosemary, garlic, and onions. I kept it simple. My remaining flatmate said it was very nice. Our other flatmate has gone home to her parents. It feels a bit lonely without her.
And the weather is blustering about us.
I was supposed to go to one of my friends’ 25th birthday party today, but they only let me know where the venue and what the time was this evening, at the which point I decided that I needed to rest. The party’s in Leith. As much as I would have wanted to go, it no longer works out logistically for me, who lives nearly an hour away. And my mind isn’t here, really.
It’s odd, because I simultaneously need people, but am also fed up with them. What kind of a slump have I hit here?
The difference is that I don’t 100% withdraw. I am curious. Why? I am accepting of this, too, though. I have let everyone know that I am ill, and I am tired. This is not the first party I have missed, that I didn’t want to miss, for my health’s sake, this term. There is a certain level of FOMO and guilt, but, ultimately, as long as you’re transparent to your friends, you must recall that your first duty of care is to yourself.
I got no academic work done today. My mind has been stuck – I have been as if hanging. I had two fixed priorities today, given that I slept in until lunch – my skit, and the party. Finally, it was the skit, and getting my health back in order, so I can write my research project over the 48 hours remaining.
I am stressed and petrified, and I want this to be over so I can go home. I want my head not to hurt in the mornings. I want to stop reaching for my phone like a pack of cigarettes, or like a bottle of vodka, or a bar of chocolate. I want to stop remembering stupid things like the Empire biscuit crumbs in my coat from the one he bought me, the scent of his perfume, the songs he sang, how warm it felt to be in his arms. I want to cease thinking on the “Oh if only I had just left that party early/if I had called him aside/if I had turned up on his doorstep when he drew away and fought…”. It hurts. All of it hurts. And the worst thing is it isn’t anyone’s fault. And the best thing is it isn’t anyone’s fault. BUT WHY DID HE LOOK AT ME LIKE I WAS A JEWEL? AND THEN LOOK AT ME LIKE I WAS A STRANGER.
Did I ever do that? Was I ever that good of an actress? Please tell me I wasn’t.
I finished watching Casanova (2005) today, and my eyes welled up. It’s about how Giacomo Casanova finds the love of his life in a brilliant feminist writer, and renounces all previous loves. It is also about how his mother comes back to find him, and how everyone else around them finds their loves and places in the world. It’s such a beautiful and satisfying story, with a predominantly Italian Baroque soundtrack that is simply to die for. And of course Tom Stoppard polished the script. Tom Stoppard is the only playwright and screenwriter I would trust to render genius of anything, because, realistically, it’s true – the film does “[do] a disservice to the colorful life of the real Casanova”, and it isn’t incredibly complex in the way it was structured, no, but arguably its simplicity is to its favour, and the complexity it does have appeals to the intellectual, also. The script is undeniably satisfactory, which I seldom find in period dramas, or indeed any films. I think the film is great, but if I must admit it to be a guilty pleasure, then so be it. It appeals to my idealist and at once jaded soul. I believe that redemption and true love are not out of my grasp. Not that, as I increasingly realise, I have much reason to seek redemption. I have remorse – I always had it, and I am acting on it. I am improving. I am trying to face my fears and problems.
Well, on that subject, I do have some important emails to do with applications to write tomorrow, and I must collect the parcel that has been awaiting me at the post office. In order to do that, I should think to repair to bed.
Good night, wherever you are, and I hope you are well.
At Least Afloat 