The nearest exit

Due to my untimely migration to the google interface and my consequent inability to make postings without encountering an error message, this is my first post in over two weeks. A lot can happen in two weeks. In general. And especially in London. So much, overwhelming, I thought I would explode without access to my outlet, my blog. But perhaps I wouldn't have said what I was thinking. I have said so little to the people around me.

Did it really start when I came back from India? I don't know anymore. The gypsy spirit has become restless and I return to the question, with increasing frequency 'what am I doing here? What have I left to do here, to learn here?' We joke about that quote, when you tire of London, you tire of life. But I'm not tired of life, quite the contrary I'm simply aching for it, or simply a different life. A new challenge.

Only 2 weeks after the new year, I took a day off from work. I couldn't bear to look at anyone. I looked at colleagues as if I were back in high school, when I decided to be on my own all the time and watch from afar, everyone seemed a strange object. I didn't do much that weekend, even though I had created a massive 'to do' list. I spent the day moving slowly, drifting through moments, passing through people, walking, hands behind my back, in and out of the corridors of the National Portrait Gallery.

I thought last week was bad. But this week is simply agonising. Work-wise. I stare at the computer screen and when I think no one is looking, I open up yahoo and write little snippets of ideas and save them in my drafts. It takes me an hour to read a 12-page document. And I don't remember any of it. I sit in on meetings and think 'wow. This is so pointless' or when I watch my boss in a client meeting, I just think quietly to myself 'how the hell did I get here' or 'I don't want to be learning how to do this'. I can't say I hate my job. I don't. I just don't give a damn.

Is it just the time of year? Is it the cold dark weather? Am I simply not exercising enough? Am I just in a trough of the work cycle? Is it because morale is low in the team and there is no strategic direction? Am I running away from something? Am I looking for an easy solution? Am I being impulsive and childish? Will it one day be too late? Will pragmatism be the death of my imagination? Am I just insane? Does the nomad/gypsy never settle?

And I ask and I ask until the question is put forth, are you running away from something or to something? A bit of both, I think. I just need to create something.

I entered London writing, but the urge fell away, forgotten and unused. Then, before I lost myself in London, Wonderwoman encouraged me with her eager readership, while Kiran and I randomly chose words out of the dictionary as a spark for stories that we would exchange. Those were good stories. The desire is back. Perhaps then, it is only fitting that I make my exit. Soon.