I'm sorry for the considerably long time that has elapsed since my last entry. It has been a stressful time, what with college and the magazine, and a brief stay at Hebden Bridge (which is a lovely little town, I highly recommend you visit it), and, to add to all that, I've moved house and am now living in a little flat on my own (hence the title of the entry; I am not continuing my rant on women and gay people's right to political correctness, sorry Mrs. Woolf).
Before we broke up for the summer holidays, my housemates and I went to see a massive house that a friend of ours was going to let. It was indeed huge but as for what else the house was I wasn't sure- what seemed like half a century's worth of dust covered any space that wasn't already covered by an assortment of furniture, appliances, and basically, crap. The house had potential; it had many rooms, one of which we wanted to make a dance studio; it was incredibly cheap, and the landlord, who'd be the one who'd fix the house up, said it'd be in perfect living conditions by September.
It didn't occur to me to believe him; and so I said afterwards, but rather than Carlos my name should be Cassandra (who could tell the future, but due to Apollo's curse was never actually believed), and my housemates agreed to move in come September, and I followed in line.
Luckily I wasn't the first one to arrive in September, and didn't have to make my way through the jungle of furniture and crap that had only grown thicker during the summer months, like one of my housemates did; or had to survive without water for a couple of days. When I did arrive, however, I had to share a bed for over a month, as I had no room; several of the windows were open to the public 24 hours, which allowed an icy draft into the house; electricity ran on ten pound pay-as-you-go cards, which meant that several times there was no electricity in the kitchen- and you know what happens to frozen meat when the fridge goes off.
As I sat having breakfast one day, in my anorak, scarf and gloves, I thought surely this was not a healthy way of living.
And Cassandra struck again. Soon we all started getting coughs. One night I kept hearing them from different rooms of the house- it felt like a Victorian TB sanitarium. And it's not wonder- coming out of the shower, or getting into it, was agony- and many times my bed was almost wet from the humidity.
When a house is that big, you'd expect that what happens in the first floor will be almost inaudible in the third. Another broken expectation. One Friday night (or morning, rather), on the weeked before Dance Europe goes to press, which is my busiest time of the month, my housemates decided to have an impromptu drumming session after a night out. I could hear every single drum, but not only that- every single word they said was perfectly clear. I came down from my room in the third floor, in a rage (and in my pants),screamed at them, and we almost didn't speak for two days after.
It was clear I had to leave. I loved my housemates- we're all Spanish and had lived together for over a year; one of them is my best friend since I came over to Leeds five years ago and another is in my year at NSCD. But training as a dancer, and working in something intellectually demanding as is the magazine means you have to stick to a different type of living- one that includes windows and central heating.
So I found a little flat for myself. I've only been here for two weeks, but I can sort of tell the difference already. The cough and the runny noses are gone. If I decide to go to bed at ten, or at midnight, I'm not awoken by people who don't have to get up at 7 am and who can afford to stay up until late hours chatting. And somehow, the hours I spend alone at home (which, due to my schedule, are not that many) serve to kind of cool me down, as if they centered my body and mind and got me ready for the next day.
More than once I've gotten bored out of my mind, and can't be bothered with centering my body or mind, and I head over to the other house, which is round the corner. And it's great, because I'm no longer moaning about the cold or wondering if I'll be able to sleep. I can just enjoy being with them.
And of course I'd love to live with them and stay up past midnight and join in on the impromptu drumming sessions. But what appears to be this year's running theme comes back to mind: I want to succeed in a career that demands more than it often returns and living as healthily as possible is up there on the top of its requirement list.
