Beijing blues

Since getting back from Hong Kong I’ve been homesick. Blue, out of sorts, quiet; I can’t even hide this away gracefully and plough on – my face is a traitor and apparently it doesn’t matter how much I lie to myself, no-one’s fooled that I’m in anything approaching a good mood. 
Things just seem to keep going pear shaped, and i'm not just talking about my figure. Claire and I had planned on moving to a twin room, but MEIYOU - no money left this month. We'd planned on going to Qingdao with Kat and Rafer (German and Kiwi/Aussie crossover) this weekend, but MEIYOU - no train tickets. I'd planned on going running at least one morning this week, but MEIYOU - no sleep, no energy, no motivation.


I'm not sure what's happened to me - I've just lost my mojo. It's not like I'm missing my family, friends or anything about England any more than usual, I just can't cheer myself up. I feel like I'm sailing the ocean, I've just discovered my boat has turned into a collinder and the crew hasn't noticed yet. Water's unexpectedly coming in from all sides, and there's nothing for it but to admit that I'm about to get wet and I wasn't prepared for this eventuality. I mean, why would I be? Collinders are not sea-worthy and I am usually cheerful. 


My usual strategy to cope with this kind of thing would usually be to run until my legs give out, bury myself in fiction, or generally take myself out of the game until I've recovered my sense of perspective and/or humour. No such respite here. One very noticable thing about Beijing is that it's bloody full of people. 


I guess this is where I need to work on endurance. I'm coming up to the three month mark of my job and three months does tend to be my sameness threshold. Something's going to change soon because something has to. I'm not sure what yet. 


It's the Chinese Ching Ming Tomb-Sweeping Festival this coming weekend (hence meiyou zhan piao to Qingdao) when the Chinese remember the dead, honour their ancestors and sweep the tombs. Well. I had planned on honouring my ancestors (particularly the maternal ones) by going for a paddle in the sea, but I guess I'll have to take the high-road and remember it's "Mind over Matter" and to put on a smile and carry on regardless instead. You'll still get to Scotland before me though.


Having relations to look up to and all the good, sensible advice to live by that I've accrued from them is kind of a comfort when I'm in danger of getting stuck in my head and taking life too seriously. I daresay it's all part of my being British not wanting to either let standards slip nor let myself or any of my ancestors (living and dearly departed) down. Right now I might be sailing a collinder, but damnit, the Union Jack is flying from it and I will carry on bailing until the damn thing is a boat again. There are other weekends for paddling.