Home

Written last night while cut-off from the word on a train travelling through the middle of nowhere.


I spend a lot of my life on trains. Reading, listening, gazing, or trying in vain to sleep. Trains are second nature to me. My home from home on the move. My home on the rails. As seen in my post about safe spaces, I like familiarity. It is comforting. The train I take home has never changed. I have been taking the same route, travelling on the same schedule, in the same carriage for almost a decade. I know most of the staff on sight and, sometimes,  even discuss the conductor’s university-age daughter when he is on shift. My train journeys are long, too long to be considered a commute. So when I travel, I set up shop, dedicating myself to that space for the next few hours. I’ve had adventures on this train. I’ve played poker with Russians, sang Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of my voice, had a deep and intense three-hour conversation with a gentleman whose name I failed to learn, yet whose intelligence and presence has stuck with me always.

I don’t really have a point to this rambling. I think I’m just nostalgic. Is it possible to be nostalgic for the present? I think I miss home. I miss having a home. I always have a home to go to, but it’s not the same as being there. Living in halls is like living in limbo and, I think, retrospectively, it has been feeling like that for a while now. My future didn’t work out like I expected. I didn’t find home where I thought, probably naively, that I would. I still don’t have a home to be in. I have a home to go to, but not be in. I think that’s why I’m restless. Everything just now, and for many months to come yet, is leading to that point. To that person and that home. I have both now, and I cherish that more than I could possibly write, but I’m ready to settle. To stop having everything be up in the air. To plan the future, to plan adventures, together.

I’m ready to be home.

Mornings

“Why, sometimes I believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”


Few things are likely to get me out of bed before 6am. Very few. However, as of late my track record as a grumpy early morning person is being stolen from me. It didn’t even require a cup of tea, would you believe? I certainly still don’t. But despite such impossibilities, like 2am fire alarms (ooh university halls, we had such a great run) I am once again in my prime position by the window of Starbucks, tea in hand, pen poised over my journal. My master’s research will wait for no man…or woman apparently. Tolkien would be so disappointed.

Yes, today must be a day filled with coding and job applications, because I have not been as productive as I should have been, though I hardly have any regrets. I am not close enough to any sort of deadline to develop worrying guilt over having some sort of life (horrifying, I know, a student trying to have a social life, absurd!) But work prevails and so do I. Onwards Queenie!!! (I don’t have anything resembling a noble steed, just a very loyal laptop I aptly named Queenie and a continual wish for a bottomless travel mug).