Keep Calm And Carry On

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“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.”

-Charles Dickens, A Tale Of Two Cities

My what a difference 9 months can make. No, I haven’t had a baby (I do believe coitus is required for that sort of thing anyway). I’m actually talking about a different kind of birth, a “rebirth” if you will. Rewind to March 27, 2008, the date of my first and last entry to this blog, and you can see how bright-eyed I was about moving and escaping from London. (John Carpenter, eat your heart out). That enthusiasm for change is still there, but the emotional bonds I felt so deeply have flipped a 180 – the friendship tether with (who I now merely refer to as my “roommate”) XXX has almost snapped.

If I had visited the world’s most prominent psychic back in March, and she had told me, as she gazed deeply into her crystal ball, that XXX and I could never live together because we’re too different and it would put a strain on the relationship, I would have told her to shove her ball up a very specific orifice in her body and walked out without paying. That notion seemed too ridiculous. I’ve heard of how some people can be the best of friends and “just can’t live together” – I’ve even been through it myself. But this? This sounded too far-fetched. There was NOTHING, simply nothing that could possibly destroy this friendship with a friend I have known for nearly 15 years, who has been loyal and supportive throughout.

WRONG.

Moving in with someone you know that well can be bad news. I’ve just lived through it and I’ve seen XXX’s darker side, her selfish side, her very “un”supportive side, her narcissitic side, her inability to let anyone into her immediate day-to-day life unless that person has potential to be her mate for life.

XXX’s daily motto: If you don’t have the sperm to provide me with a potential future family of my OWN, then I don’t really give a shit about you. I’ll pretend I do, but really I don’t. And when I get home from church everyday, I’ll pray before I go to sleep that God will send me a husband. Being a good person on the outside doesn’t really matter so long as I receive the sacrament, right?

I wish someone would tell her that’s wrong.

Now, I’ll spare the exhausting details (and will also save myself and this blog from anymore of this negative energy that is spilling from my fingertips as I think of this entire situation) just trust me when I say, my friend has not made this move easy for me. I didn’t move here with anyone. I moved here MYSELF.

And as I sat alone in my room in Somerville most days in October (I moved to the city in September) searching for jobs on the internet, fearful of the still very unknown city that lay on my doorstep, I hoped and hoped that XXX would show me around a little bit, perhaps introduce me to a few of her friends. I was in dire need of human interaction.

Fruitless hoping it proved to be.

I was lonely, missing London (which I NEVER thought I would say) but my heart and my gut kept telling me to stick it out, ride the frothy wave and persist forward. Keep calm and carry on, I kept telling myself. While this was no world war, it was indeed a war of some kind.

But life sure does have its funny way of making everything seem topsy-turvey, when in fact all it’s doing is  just rebalancing itself  out for you.

This entire isolation caused me to throw myself wholeheartedly into new environments, new situations with new and exciting people.

And I lucked out. Two jobs in two very different bars later, I’ve met a special handful of people that just simply RULE. They do stuff – they’re creative and inspiring. They dance without caring who is looking at them. They play piano and sing in front of strange crowds. They laugh. They don’t take themselves too seriously – but the important stuff they DO take seriously. They’re easy to talk to, easy to be around – a pleasure to be around. While it seems I’ve only known them six weeks or so, I feel like it’s been longer! Funny that, eh? Awesome.

So, finally, three months in and three thousand Hendricks martinis later (and three minor car incidents later), all is good here in Beantown. I feel like I’ve really settled here in my own right. I really did this on my own and anyone who even dares suggest that I had the support of a longtime high-school friend can really go and fuck themselves. This is me here. And it feels good.

That Charles Dickens was one smart English lad.

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