rainy day routine (or lack thereof)

Living in London is the antithesis to having a routine, and so I have come to dread routine. Come April 30^th I will be a wreck. My palms will sweat, my eyes will feel dry and puffy from crying, and I may even break out in a rash. To live every day the same way? How dreadful. But this is what my life was like before London. Routine. Synonymous with boring. Antonymous with fun. I woke up, probably put on a white men’s Hane’s v-neck, a pair of jeans, converse, and a jacket, if not a winter parka and boots. I walked the same way to class and the same way home every day. I spoke to no one in person until 4pm when I got to work.

I went to school. 

 

I worked. 

 

I did homework. 

Dull, drudgery, dull. The only times I felt life was actually worth living was when Jacob would come visit, but his absence would soon be filled minutes after he left with an unshakeable melancholy and a bout of procrastination. In the solitude of my apartment, I cleaned the stove, the tiny countertop, the floor, the entire bathroom and reorganized my possessions time and time again to distract me from my loneliness and desolation. As a result, the apartment was always spotless, but empty. Sometimes I entertained the thought of leaving crumbs out in hopes it would attract a mouse. At least I would have some company. 

I lived alone. I ate alone. I slept alone. And then something wonderful happened: I came to London. Suddenly I was surrounded by people all the time. I had no privacy, no space, no alone time, and most importantly, no routine. I woke up at sporadic intervals; I ate 5 meals and 6 snacks a day; I spoke to at least 10 people before noon. I couldn’t have a job: work visas are impossible to obtain. I couldn’t clean: it was pointless because we have cleaning ladies. I was forced to just have fun. 

My eduvacation, as my parents like to call it, started off with a bang, and a lot of booze at the good old Gloucester Arms. I would find myself going out on a Monday, and a Tuesday, and a Wednesday, and even a Sunday night, events which were unheard of in my previous life. I was pregaming study sessions, jet-setting on the weekends, shopping when I shouldn’t and buying clothes I never thought I would ever wear. I went to clubs and pubs and danced away to the beat of subs, and I finally, truly, began to enjoy my life. I miss my family, my dogs Ollie and Murphy, and of course, my boyfriend, but I do not miss my old, routine, blasé daily existence. I finally understood why people always said “your 20’s are the best years of your life.” It’s the time when time isn’t scheduled down to the millisecond, before the real world of work and mortgages and taxes takes over, before “the rest of your life” begins.  

However, there are constants here: dirty dishes in the kitchen, clouds in the sky, skype sessions with Jacob; but there is still no schedule, no habitual daily activities, no repetitive actions. I love the chaotic and free-flowing nature of life, of walking through the park when I want to, not getting up until I feel like it, and having every night free for adventures. All good things must come to an end, and so I know my time in London is running out quicker than sand through an hour glass. I’ll always remember my time here as one in which I lived life in all directions. I embraced my 20’s and I lived as selfishly and leisurely as possible. I truly experienced London.