finale


Two weeks in and I’m in love. Another hopeless case. Another married woman who is merely trying to be my friend. But, oh, how majestic she is. You know the feeling you get when you walk along with someone and feel so proud to be next to them? You feel so hopeful that people think this person is your partner. And it’s pathetic. She’s just trying to be helpful and kind… and, after two weeks, I feel like I want to suggest that we run away together and never resurface. The truth is I am lost. I’ve been thinking of dramatic escapes and endings. I’ve been wondering if Madrid should be the final chapter. I have nothing to go back to. I have nothing to stay for. I have nothing to go anywhere for or do anything for. I have had a good time and I have travelled. But I have suffered tremendous heartache and emotional anguish. I have struggled to belong from the moment I first went to nursery school, and we all made cardboard dinosaurs, right through to my life in South Africa, America, England, Spain. I didn’t belong in the punk scene or the metal scene… and certainly no other scenes. I did a degree in literature but don’t get along with the literary crowd. I work with computers and don’t really get along with the IT crowd. I’m just not cut out for all the bullshit. I always felt happiest at home, watching a film or reading a book, alone, with the two cats beside me.

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