I have been asleep all day. Trying to escape the dreariness and the grey, the sound of the rain against the windows even penetrated my dreams. There is no escaping this feeling; I am unhappy.
I have been more lost than I have cared to admit to myself, and now I find myself in England. Although I am unsure of where I want to be, being here makes me feel certain that this place isn't for me. And this terrifies me because I cannot leave; I am stuck here, like a prisoner, of a marriage, that I cannot help but doubt now as well.
I try to relate to this feeling, I try to remember feeling this before, and I can't. I'm not so sure I've ever been to a place that felt this wrong to me.
My solution thus far has been to find work, lots of work, that will keep me busy and away from home, away from the place of "It's not pickle, it's gherkin, and it's not chips, it's crisps"... oh what have I done? This is not the way it was supposed to be.
I can't find it in myself to even try to mask these feelings; a smile brings tears to my eyes. The fatigue of not knowing how to cope is strong and heavy over me; I fear I shall be sleeping quite a lot.
The grey outside is a mirror to the grey in me, and I fear I shall not see the sun anytime soon.
Paris, I miss you.
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