Blessed are the forgetful.

I’m on a train. Nothing new there. The key difference is I’m going in the opposite direction. My body is dealing with it in strange ways. Each day I pull it out of sleep just after six, ram it into gear with exercise, breakfast and coffee and then squeeze it onto a train to commute to London.
This morning I am returning home. I was out last night and didn’t make or couldn’t face the return journey. I forget which. I’m still in the clothes I set out for work in yesterday morning, but I don’t feel horrible, and I don’t feel like I’m performing the walk of shame.
It feels as though enough intoxicating liquor was passed into me last night to just hush the parts of my brain that usually run at a million miles an hour. Instead I’m left with this empty vessel and it feels quite beautiful and zen.
I wonder if this is how most people feel, those who can switch off, and drift. Is this normal?

I spent nearly an hour travelling across one of my favourite cities in the world and I am in love with the world. At six am there is no buzz, there are no suits, there are barely any people in fact. Due to the work on Bank junction this morning there was a serene and unusual peace in the air, the likes of which London rarely sees.

I just wanted to take the time to address this sensation, and tell you to stop and take a while to appreciate wherever you are and whoever you’re with because it could be dragged out from underneath at any point.

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