I had a day off yesterday. Unfortunately, I'm feeling extremely aimless and glum at the moment, so it's probably not the best time for me to spent protracted periods of time at home alone. I decided I wouldn't go to the office and then was lost in a miasma of indecision. Should I do good works around the hoose? Or should I go out. The weather looked nice, so after an hour's procrastinating, I jumped on my bike and headed out.
I didn't initially know where I was going. I thought the road might lead me, zen-like, to the promised land. I'm not sure it did that. I ended-up in Primrose Hill. We lived here some years ago, and it's an area I have very fond memories of. That should have set the alarm bells ringing for me. When I get nostalgic, particularly for places I associate with the halcyon past, it's a sure sign I'm depressed. And so it proved to be. I mooched around the place, feeling dislocated from it and my own past. That time has gone forever. I couldn't help but notice the difference the place has undergone since I lived there. This compounded the misery. I felt alone.
Onwards downwards then.
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