Sea Change

Yesterday was a curious sort of day that had results I did not expect and can not really explain. But I will do my best.

Over the past several weeks, I have been in a foul mood evidenced by extended irritability, short temper, and sullen disposition. Unlike other moody periods, this was extended and prolonged. While it is certainly more complicated than I will explain here, suffice it to say that the continued nothingness that is my relationship with the Prototype had something to do with it. Yesterday, however, the dark clouds obscuring my normally upbeat perspective were lifted; change comes when you least expect it.

Oddly, I can pinpoint the exact moment that my internal compass righted itself. I was on the tube people watching (as always) and I saw this 30ish couple get on the train. They were standing right in front of me and after a few minutes I wanted to shout, “Get a room!” They were all over each other. At that moment, one thing struck me that I had known, but never really accepted. I will never have that type of intimacy with the Prototype. As fantastic as I find her, as much as I would like it to be, I believe the writing is on the wall and for the first time, I’m accepting it instead of just knowing it.

But something else struck me as well. I can’t remember the last time I went out “on the pull,” as they say here. Sure, I’ve gone out in the last couple months and met some women, but I was never truly interested in them because I had unspeakably committed myself to the idea of the Prototype, even if that idea was little more than a fantasy of my mind and heart (albeit one that she played a direct and continued role in creating). I also have not been having much fun recently (in general) as my “going out” time has involved either the Uni pub, a truly destitute environment that is fun for no man, and dancing with the Prototype, which, as already discussed, was never going to get me what I wanted (aside from satisfying the dancing jones within me).

When I think back to when I first arrived in the UK, those were happy times. I was going out, meeting people, just having too much fun. It’s time for the fun to start again. This doesn’t mean I need to go out until 5 am every Saturday after getting blitzed or anything like that. It simply speaks to my desire to go out, have fun, and most importantly, meet British girls. So that’s the plan. The Prototype and I shall remain friends and if the near zero event occurs where she actually acts like a normal human being and expresses some sort of concrete desire, then I will welcome that, but I am no longer so interested in that with her. In fact, I would be hesitant to engage with her at this point because of her prolonged history of stop/start and because I like romance and I’m not convinced she’s capable of any. That may be a damning statement of someone who I’ve only known for a few months and it may be inaccurate, but I think it has its grain of truth. I’m somewhat of a sentimentalist. I like to know when we had our first date. I like to believe that there is something unique about our connection. And I like to suggest that our story is an interesting story. (These desires are for me and X, as in, whoever I date in the future.) I don’t get the sense that those types of things are interesting to her. Maybe she’s just too jaded at this point to believe in the dream; I don’t know. But I do know that I’m not. I’m an optimist and a romantic at heart and I will not let a continued string of missed connections obscure that fact.

At any rate, I was on the tube because I was going to a speech at the Royal Institute of International Affairs, or Chatham House, as it is now known. I have a student membership there which is one of the perks of going to Webster. It’s the only university in the UK to have student memberships to Chatham House, a perk we enjoy because the head of the IR program is a fellow or something like that there. The speech was titled “The Future of the WTO” and it was very interesting. In fact, it was so interesting that I may have just landed on my thesis. Finding an appropriate thesis is the ultimate quest of every graduate student (after funding, girls, and beer, that is) and I’ve been wavering over several ideas for the past couple months but the WTO issue seems to fit. I like that it’s complicated and diverse, meaning that I’m unlikely to get bored in researching it and that there are a variety of perspectives from which to draw on. More on this at a later date.

After the speech, I went back home to edit an essay that’s due today. Real World had invited me to meet her and her man up at this pub with live music in the evening and I had accepted. I’m quite pleased I got all that negative energy that I had directed toward her out of my system earlier in the day. And I think I have a better vantage point to describe my feeling toward her. When we are in school, she offends every sensibility in my body and often leaves me apoplectic. But when we are outside that environment, she’s a lot of fun. So the key is, keep her away from discussions of Israel and Palestine, and I’ll be ok.

Anyway, the pub was only 10 minutes walking away from my house, which I must say, was totally sweet. And it only cost 5 pounds to get in, which is a pretty nice price to see 4 semi-professional bands. The music did not disappoint either. I missed the first 1.5 bands, but the last two were quite good. In fact, I’d be shocked if the last band did not have a deal by the summer. They were fantastic. The place we were at is a relatively small venue, but apparently is known around London as the place for up and coming bands. They’ve had 5 bands in the last two years play multiple sets at this venue only to get signed to record deals in short order. In fact, last night, we observed some rich dude go up to the lead singer of the first band (whom I was told was not actually that good), talk to him for a few minutes, and then hand him a wad of cash. We’re talking thousands here. Now, there’s always the chance that someone was dealing some coke, but usually those transactions involve money going one way and coke going the other way, so I’ll rest on my laurels that someone has a wealthy sponsor for their musical journey (much like CWebb got cars and money when he was at UMich). What I want to know is, where’s my wealth sponsor? Or, more accurately, where’s my money, bitch!

All in all, yesterday was entirely satisfactory. Today, I have class and then Real World invited me to go to a house warming party at her boyfriend’s new place. I am interested in putting myself into situations where I am one of the only Americans, so I will probably go. The only sticking point is that he lives FAR away and I don’t want to be stuck out there all night if I can’t figure out how to take the bus home. So I’ll look into that before I make a decision, because, at the end of a long night of stiff drinks, I hate nothing more than passing out on someone’s floor only to wake up six hours later, disoriented and feeling disgusting only to realize that I have to pick my ass up, brave the cold, and march myself home before I can truly recuperate. Plus I need to go to the library tomorrow.