So, that hiatus turned out a lot longer than expected.
For reasons, see below the cut.
It’s one in the morning and I’m soundly asleep when the earthquake hits.
Earthquakes and I have an odd relationship – normally I enjoy them, but once they hit a certain level of strength, ten years in London of earthquake training slams into me like a two-by-four and I go running for the nearest doorway.
Tired, in disarray, I half-yell, “Yo…everyone alive?”
(When it comes time to record the grand speeches of the 21st Century, my name will not be among them.)
After hearing various muttered assents, I clamber back into bed, where eventually I’m woken by a series of hysterical texts from my boyfriend. When that’s resolved, I finally fall asleep.
Another half-hour later, I get a phone call telling me there’s been a tsunami warning.
Grumbling, bad-tempered and generally annoyed, we all get dressed, grab what we need and head uphill to my flatmate’s boyfriend’s place. My boyfriend and his flatmate meet us there.
Five hours later, we awake to beautiful sunshine.
“So Kate called me – she’s offering us the house!” babbles my boyfriend.
“Cool,” I say through a mouth of hot coffee.
We’ve been flat searching for months, even with the growing realization that, with a fixed term contract on my current flat, I’m stuck paying double rent (or, rather, my father is – I’m fine until I get a job).
“So I was thinking you could go to that flat viewing tonight and then we say yes?” he says.
“No.” I tell him firmly. “Bird in the hand.”
“Bird. In. Hand.”
He calls her and we accept.
I have been conditionally accepted into Masters.
I still don’t know if I’ve passed Honors.
I periodically bite my nails and hope.
My room is a pit and I’m tired all the time. I remember, yet again, why the last five years have been spent without summer breaks; inactivity and I are uneasy bedmates.
I sign up for the SPCA.
Eventually, I remember my writing and vow to write again.
I put it off, feeling tired, or depressed, or getting distracted.
And then one day, I don’t.
So those are my reasons.
They’re not good reasons, but those are my reasons.
(Oh, and for the record – my flat came out of the earthquake fine. My boyfriend’s? Less so.)