With Blackjack and Hookers "I'm going to write my own blog. With blackjack. And hookers."

23Dec/162

Five hundred, twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes

On Thursday morning, I packed up my bed linen, towel and laptop, and walked a suitcase up Tower Bridge Road in order to drop off the keys to my flat with the real estate agent. By 9am it was done: I was 'homeless'. Inverted commas, of course, because while I don't have a 'home' right now, I do have places to sleep: I'm covered until the end of January, which is hopefully more than I need. Still, it's not my favourite feeling, this being without a place that is mine. This is the second time this year - the second time in just over six months - that I've been in this situation, and it sucks.

What hasn't sucked is how amazing people have been. No fewer than four people at work offered to give me their house keys while they're away over Christmas, and another offered her couch for as long as I needed it. The same has been true of people outside of work. Given I've only been in the country six months, it's a nice feeling: I'm not alone here. For that feeling alone, I am incredibly grateful.

I had a half day at work after dropping in the keys, which was subdued. Three quarters of the office finished up last week, and they seemed to take all the energy and enthusiasm with them. We've done our best with bringing in treats, having coffee dates, and even playing carols on occasion, but it's hard to sustain. I did my bit on Thursday by opening one of the bottles of champagne from the collection under my desk, and that was nice. I skipped out after that, lugging my suitcase on the tube to Victoria, where I had a teeny, tiny hotel room for the night - and a ticket to see 'Rent' at the St James.

I'd seen 'Rent' live three times before buying this ticket, and I admit, I hesitated over it. The tickets weren't cheap, and I saw it in Sydney back in April, all of seven months ago; did I really need to go again?

I did. And I'm so glad I made that decision.

At the door, they stopped us all to explain that they were having some serious issues with illness within the cast, and that the matinee performance was going to be only semi-staged as a result; and that if we wanted our money back, or to exchange tickets for another time, they would be happy to do so. I dithered only for a moment: I wasn't sure how I felt about paying full price to see a not-full version, but on the other hand... I was there. It was my plan for the afternoon. I wanted to go.

And, really. If they could not actually perform the full version, they had clearly had some major issues, and to that end I was impressed they were going ahead at all, and I wanted to support that. (It turned out that the Wednesday night performance had had to be cancelled, even.)

As it turned out, one of their biggest issues was that the actor who played Mark (who is, for those who do not know the show, pretty much the glue that connects everything) was out sick. And so was his understudy. And so they'd dragged in someone new, someone who hadn't rehearsed properly, but was willing to step in. He performed with script in hand, which is incredibly brave; he was excellent.

They were also down to a chorus of three, which made things a little difficult a few times, but which they pulled off spectacularly.

(And their Angel was the best I'd ever seen: he did backflips on the stage in heels, the crazy man.)

No, it wasn't a full performance, but it didn't matter. They had energy, and the audience did too. I felt... so alive, being part of it, and so connected.

And then they gave us free drinks at interval, as if I needed to be bribed not to complain; I have absolutely no regrets. Sure, seeing the full production would've been something, and I'm sorry I won't get to, but I feel like what I saw was something different, and something real. That's what live theatre is all about, right?

I wept through most of the second half; I do that, sometimes, and it has been an emotional and exhausting few days. Weeks. Months. Year. But I felt lighter and far more relaxed when I left, and for the first time all week I actually slept properly. I don't know how much of that was because of the theatre, and how much was because of how tired I was, not to mention the relief to be done with my flat; I don't suppose it matters. I slept, and it was lovely.

Seeing 'Rent' in Sydney, earlier this year, was one of the first things I did after my ex moved out. It was my way of reminding myself that I could do things on my own - that, in fact, I had been not doing things I love because of my relationship, and that was stupid. As musicals go, it was perhaps one of the better choices for me: the whole point of 'Rent' is this idea that there's no day but today. 'Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.' I needed that, in April, and perhaps I need that still. I think we all do, in a way.

So here's to living life. To taking chances. To embracing whatever comes.

I'm at the airport, now, on my way to Cyprus. I'm sad, not being with my family, and sad, too, that the package I sent them three and a half weeks ago won't arrive in time for Christmas. But I'm happy, too: I'm excited about this trip, and enthusiastic about the future.

My life was so different, a year ago. (Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, as would be appropriate in this context.) I imagine my life will be different again, a year from now, though I can't imagine what and how. But it's okay. I'm okay. Everything is okay.

I'm homeless, but I'm okay.

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