Homeless & unemployed part II
There is this viscious chicken or the egg paradox which comes with living in London. You can't get a flat without a job and getting a job is infinitely harder when you're sleeping on a friends sofa without your own flat. So when I lost my dream flat in Shepherds bush for the second time I realised I wasn't going to get it all.
I'm breaking up with the sofa I've been sleeping on for the past month and moving to Kent. Further from London, more expensive to commute. Why? Because it will be to live with my wonderful boyfriend, I'll be cared for and truthfully? It's the only realistic option I have left. I don't actually have anywhere else to go.
When I got the news on Friday I sobbed unprofessionally and left blue roll bits everywhere. When my colleagues found my hiding place I knew work (my current PR internship) wasn't the best place for me today. I left and had multiple dramatic phone calls with my Iron Lady Norn Irish Ma. A plan of action was then made once I'd had a cup of tea and cried some more.
Now, on Sunday evening I'm on a replacement rail service bus from London Bridge heading back to the sofa after a wonderful weekend with the beard. I still have absolutely no idea what the next four weeks are going to look like. Nor do I know when I will be moving back to London. But I do know I'll be ok. I do know that in 8 weeks time I'll look back and think, 'that was absolutely shite, but I'm fine now'. I know this because it's happened before. I learnt from it the last time. I dealt with this uncertainty and fear before. I have got experience.
And despite everything, that feels good, that makes everything just a tiny bit better. Because this too shall pass.
