Swimming

Do you ever wake up and feel like you’re still dreaming?

Something’s strange. I feel off. For some reason, it seems like the world is turning and I’m just moving…

People are coming and people are going, and I’m still static. Emotionless even. Hollow.

Nothing really matters anymore, but I keep going. Aimlessly wandering the winding streets of London.

Sorry for the general emo-ness of this post, but I really do feel like something is off with me. Like I’m part of this world, but for some reason, I’ve mentally checked out.

I smoked again yesterday, but even that lost it’s glamour…

See? I told you. Something is off.

What on earth is going on?

There are moments when I feel like something much bigger than me, an overarching force is pushing me along in a direction I do not know…it’s like I’m finally, after years of controlling everything…I’m just letting go.

Hands off the strings and just gliding with the eb and flow of life. I really feel like I’ve lost control, and there is no desire to regain it.


Just swimming really.

But yea. I feel like something big is coming my way, but can’t quite figure out what it is. Like I meant to do something in the near future, and the path is being illuminated just as I take the next step…but the fog is too dense to see what’s ahead of me. It’s a feeling. An instinct.

And I never doubt my instincts.


I went to dinner with Comrade last night, after a surprisingly easy day of group work. The others actually contributed, but I have a feeling Comrade may have had something to do with that. Dinner with him was nice, as always. Seeing as I am broke once again, he paid…with me promising to pay him back. Salad at Strada. How sweet. For some reason, I feel like he knows something’s off with me, and is his cute way, trying to cheer me up with nonsensical stories from Oxbridge.

Cuter than ever that one. With impeccable manners and dignity. Fuck.

Of course, it is officially strange how he keeps offhandedly mentioning Roman in his stories. All in a good light might I add. It’s either how the Russian took tough classes at Oxbridge or how the Russian is that or the Russian is this or when the Russian is coming...not too often, but just regular enough for me to think that something odd is going on.

Or I’m just making an issue out of nothing. That’s usually the case anyway.

Belle