I am not having the best week.
Maybe it's the blood in my veins that've turned to wine, or the fact my occasional urge to fucking chain smoke has become near a full fledged addiction, or the fact I stayed up to watch the sunrise from the wrong side like I love, or the fact my Oyster card is all screwed up, and I've been charming my way on and off the trains since Tuesday night, or the fact that I realised that someone in my building is stealing my god-damn post, or maybe I'm just so happy right now that my anger at what it is to be a pretty white girl who pretends to be classy but came from a shit-box is raging, or the fact that cab driver just said “have a good night” like he thinks I'm a hooker, or the fact I don't sleep when I accidentally forget to take my mood stabilisers, or maybe it's all of this, or something else but I'm not having the best week.
There's this crash of relief that happens when I come up to my apartment block. Like this place feels like home but I'm still frustrated, and it's rare for me to be frustrated, so the emotion creeps up my spine like the cold fingers of no booze no opiate sobriety lashed at me earlier. Hey, we all have to try it sometime. I'm usually the calm little centre of the universe. So used to calm that my calm pulls people in. It's a talent I have, really, but I'm not having the best week.
I'm fumbling for my keys and I don't know why but I look up. I always look up, especially in big cities, no-one ever looks up. One of my favourite things ever is looking up. I have this whole rock-musical in my head about the apocalypse and people not looking up but I need to learn to write music properly first. Now, I'm in central London here, so the lights across the city are usually so bright that the stars are gone. I miss the not-London city-stars like I miss that fierce mother-figure I never had. This is a case of nature winning out, and somehow, I don't know how, the whole sky is empty and clear and pure and I can see the stars. All of them. I sit down on the wall to my building, and I swear to you, I swear to you, I can see all of the constellations and the colours of the planets and the stars, they shine. They're so damn beautiful I make that sound like I don't know if I'm crying or laughing and I realise, my bad week, it's gonna be okay. All right. I'll figure out my Oyster card and I'll figure out what rich privileged ass-hole is stealing my post and all that other stuff doesn't matter anyway, and I think, this might be my version of maturity.