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Hello, hello, hello

Let me begin by saying that this platform is not that ideal for the “pick up where we left off” sort of outlook in life. If it were ideal, I’d either have left out a lot of details in my sort of sordid life (a joke) or I’d have a lot of catching up to do. And retroactively trying to remember your emotional state after you’ve been through a flurry of emotions is, similarly, not very ideal. I’d like to not go back to feeling like fucking shit, thank you very much.

In any case, here I am, trying to make the same excuse of absence sound like something else. I’ve been writing on the Internet since 2002, when I was a freshman in high school. I did it because my best friend, Isa, did it, though of course her journal came with a format and a vision and a voice. All I did was post quiz results and moan about school. I didn’t really know how to talk to people back then, and even though I am better at human interaction these days (or so I’d like to think), there is still that comfort of just sort of talking to yourself with the vague idea that someone out there is paying attention.

So, to recap: I am on my last year at uni, working on a practice-led project, which is just a funny way of saying that I’m incorporating my research directly into the new work I produce. The text component of this option is much shorter and uncomfortably inward-looking, and I am a little bit sorry about the number of words for research and theory that I’m relinquishing, but also, I did go back to school for this marriage of theory and praxis, and as is established by this little nothing of a space on the internet, words can exist basically anywhere, so… here we are.

This morning, I went to a tutorial with the most helpful tutor I have, and even though it was brief, I’m approaching this with more clarity than I’ve had in the past two months or so. I’ve written a bunch of words and researched and read, but I realised that there was a disconnect with the work. The good thing is that we can start again.

I’ve been a bit hazy-headed lately, which I’d like to chalk up to SSRI withdrawals. It’s always helpful to have something to blame for your bad behaviour (again, a joke), but this time around, I had to go chase down some medication I desperately needed for about a week and a half, so that was fun. The problem with housing in London is that it’s expensive and uncertain, and in the short time I’ve been here, I’ve lived in three places, and it didn’t occur to me to check with the first address. It was there but I didn’t have access to it, but that story is boring.

Just to reassure whoever is reading this, I am O.K. However—

My last move was not particularly pleasant, in the sense that I moved from something sort of awful, with manipulative and opportunistic people, into a house and situation that I am cautiously optimistic about, so I suppose that is already one good thing.

Another good thing is that the studio I’ve been renting out (and making things in) is beside a nice pub, where they have quite a good selection of beer — with great prices for take away — although the food is not particularly amazing. Let it be said that I am sick of toasties.

But I do feel quite lucky to have chanced upon this studio, which has all the space I need and is quite cheap (please adjust standards for geography), and again, as I’ve mentioned, is right beside a pub. However, there are rumours of its demolition, so, lol. I don’t know. I’m staying put until I have to leave, basically. 

I’ve also made a friend at the studio. Partly because I locked myself out one time, and then partly because she locked herself out another time. The good thing about that ordeal is that I met said friend, Minyoung, and another good thing about that same ordeal is that I can be sure of the security of the actual warehouse.

The studio is also close to the London Centre for Book Arts, which is a place where I am trying to learn how to use their machines for making books. I’ve always said that that was what I wanted to so with my life: make books. And that a dream of mine is to own a small press. I realised that that didn’t have to mean actually owning a printing press, not really, so let’s see if this roundabout route is a step towards somewhere. But, even if it’s not, that’s okay, too.