Melancholia

Well, here I am, where I always was destined to be: sitting in a cafe in New York City trying to work out what to do with my life.  Sadly, no celebrities are joining me today, although yesterday as I sat next to one too paranoid to attempt a conversation about our obviously similar political inclinations (I was reading The Guardian on my iPad, he was listening to a Democracy Now podcast on his iPhone, Steve Jobs would be proud), I realised I had to make a few changes in my life.  This isn't cutting it.  Yesterday I fainted in a hairdresser (being a seasoned fainter, I at least managed to avoid breaking anything this time), and they asked me if I wanted them to call someone. I couldn't think of anyone to call who lived in this country. On my way down to this cafe, I bought a packet of cigarettes. I don't smoke, but I wanted to today, in tribute to my friend Irina's rampant declaration that she is going to smoke UNTIL HER LUNGS FALL OUT because LIFE IS HELL AND ONLY GETTING WORSE, a philosophy she inherited from an old Russian lady on the ferry between Finland and Sweden and one we like to gleefully repeat loudly to each other in strong Russian accents.

Now I am surrounded by people on MacBooks writing screenplays (probably), ordering soy cappuccinos (seriously) and writing meaningful notes in their diaries.  A guy sitting by the window is either famous, or thinks he is.  He is wearing sunglasses. Inside.  Only Jack Nicholson is allowed to do that. Is this where my life has ended up? Why am I still lost like I was in high school when I did the most random selection of subjects ever - in theory to keep my grades but in reality so I didn't have to decide what to to be when I grew up? Sometimes I hate being an adult, except that you can have ice-cream for lunch if you want to.

I spent the morning talking to someone who unintentionally (let's give him the benefit of the doubt) broke my heart and breaks it again every time I talk to him, feeling almost exactly like Kirsten Dunst in Melancholia except I don't have anyone to forcefully drag me out of bed - although on the plus side I also don't have to defend Lars von Trier's ill-advised Nazi comments.  I am probably feeling more lost now than ever, but sitting here among Brooklyn's finest screenwriters/diarists/Facebookers, I wonder if this is in fact quite interesting.  Maybe now I have nothing left to lose.   I never would have considered daring to study for a different career, or move cities AGAIN, or stepping back and seeing what becomes apparent, or moving to a nunnery (slightly difficult for someone as non-religious as me but apparently there's a place in Amsterdam you can go. No, not the red light district).

So I'm hoping hitting this brick wall will help if I can work out how to get to the other side.  Or maybe I will end up in some weird atheist nunnery.  Let's find out…