Okay, so now I think the boredom has morphed into something like paranoia. It’s been a funny week. I’ve been exploring further afield. Amazing trip to Coney Island and then the beach. Treated myself to a high end cupcake instead of the usual processed junk version. But I digress…

I was in the East Village yesterday, casually debating with myself about which tattoo parlour I should let give me a tramp stamp (NB – this will NEVER happen!) I’d spent the best part of the morning trying to get Mr Wallace on the phone. All to no avail of course. I’m beginning to think he’s just up and vanished. So still no answer on how long I can stay in the house or if there’s any other estate stuff I should be aware of. So I decided to distract myself with my ongoing fantasy about getting the worst tattoo possible.

I’d been looking at this one shop off St Mark’s when I noticed this guy stopped just up the street. At first I thought nothing of it – this is New York, people stop and stare every second. But for some reason this guy got my attention. Something about him made me look twice. And when I did I went ice cold. It may have been my imagination, it may be just me being here without a set of mates and talking to myself too much, it could even have been a cupcake induced sugar high hallucination. But I swear it was the same man I saw outside my flat in Kentish Town.

I didn’t stick around to find out. I went straight home. As soon as I got through the door I knew it was about to happen. The adrenaline hit me hard. I ran straight for the bathroom and threw up.

It’s in my head. I know it is. I’m just longing to see a familiar face, even if it is a transcontinental stalker. So, it’s time to start meeting people here, doing something with my time. Put down some roots, even if they’re just little ones. Whatever my father wanted me to come here and see, or do, I’ve missed it, but I didn’t pack up my entire life just to wander around this incredible city moping and sulking and throwing up seven dollar cupcakes.

Almost finished with the book. It’s a page-turner! Lots of stalking and pursuing and watching from around corners in that, so probably another reason I’m hallucinating creepy stalkers. I’m a sponge, as David used to say. I always thought he meant I absorbed the personalities and drama of other people because I was too banal to have my own. Perhaps I’m just an empathetic, sensitive person, and a sponge looks soft to a brick wall.

In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve had a drink. Or two… Found this tunnel of an Italian place round a random corner in the village and that’s where I am now. At half eleven blogging and accidentally sloshed. Going to write a plan now. A massive, sloshy, drunken plan for the time I have here. I’ve spirited myself away (pun!) to this sort-of magical place and I’m going to do something. Something worthwhile. Before I’m booted back to real life. I am the ant!

Dx