If you've ever...

Lived in London. Visited London. Travelled the World. Lived in Australia. Visited Australia. Even longed to live in either lands. Fell in love. Nursed a broken heart. Tried to make sense of your 20s. Or if you enjoy an entertaining read, then this content has your name all over it! 

Monday, December 14, 2009

Hit the brakes

One week out of being back in Australia for three months now, and the brakes have hit hard. The initial down time was a blessing, now this endless downtime is daunting. Haunting even.

Imagine a life where stress rules; but feeds your veins with adrenaline, hope, and new opportunities. I miss the hard-hitting pace of London. The unforgiving city. Chews you up and spits you out without even a second glance. Love it or hate it. I love how black and white it is. But you'll never feel as alone as you do in London. New York City is pretty similar. Although, admittedly there is something so filling in it.

I still walk as fast as my London legs took me. From joining the stampede of feet to make a tube. Make the tube exit. Make a bus. This fast-forward mentality spilt into my every day actions. Hell I even grocery shopped faster. Cooked faster. Slept faster. Lived faster. And drank faster... my liver was witness. Sharing three bottles of white (and a large glass extra to boot) with my ex-editor-turn-bestie on a school night was perhaps a bit excessive. Never mind my lack of hangover the next day. Great to boast about at the time. But in hindsight, I cry for my liver. You poor toxin-filled organ, punched up with wine. I often also cry for my heart ... but that's the eternal dramatic in me. Mix wine and heart-issues together and you get an irrational, over-emotional, drama-filled evening. Ever been walked out on in a restaurant? I can bashfully tick that box. Thank GOD I've learnt to separate the two now.

So it's no secret that most people wash away the intensity and stresses of London life was alcohol. Not to be congratulated obviously, but it's just the way of life. Having a pub on pretty much every street corner aids this medicating-the-madness relief. Handy really. But one definite and vain downside of this liquid lover are the impending kilos that cling to once skinny frames. Most antipodeans call this the Heathrow Injection. And inject it does. Thank god the opposite occurs back on home turf. Ironic really, with a slower pace of life and less running around...

The brakes have hit, and now I've just gotta suck it up and get used to it.

No comments:

Post a Comment