It's my two month Bruxellois anniversary today although it feels much longer.
Now my legs are used to daily hard use, it feels weird if I don't walk. I can see how people get addicted to running (though that will never happen, not with my knees; not with my knockers). So I set off across town to Saint Josse to get the last of my stuff. It took just under an hour, and I did it without a map, so the town is becoming really familiar now. The room in Saint Josse still needs a clean and the drains are irredeemable. I'll put something down the sink before giving back the keys. Though I think there are trolls and beasts down there.
I'm having a bit of a maudlin day if truth be told. History does not dictate one's future, I know this. We are not the things that happen to us, even though patterns seem to arise and define you. I'm talking about my long tendency to fall for men who are either unavailable or uninterested, or both. I won't say too much because it embarrasses me a bit. But I don't want that to be who I am: to grow old vacant because I wanted the wrong people. That is shit, really. And I won't say any more.