Short Story : India's Journal

Hello journal my name is India, and no I have never been to India, as a matter of fact nothing about me has any association to India. My parents just thought to give me the name to be distinctive *rolls eyes*. People I have randomly met named India always seem to have some sort of story, like their parents met there, but mine have not even been there. My parents cannot even stand Indian food or any sort of spicy food for that matter. Okay, I am sure you have had enough about me ranting about my name. I am twenty-four years old and I am a Londoner. I work in the city as a management consultant. Every weekday I am underground at 6.30am sharp, boarding my train to get to work at 7am. I always go to the second to the last carriage as it is near to the exit of the station I come off at for work. For the last two years since I started my job I have noticed that it is the same people that are in this carriage every morning. We even give each other that nod of recognition.  I notice when a member has been absent for a while, it’s a bad economy so I wonder if they moved house and use a different route to work or got laid off. These people in the carriage are my friends in some weird twisted way; they see me more than most of my friends and even my boyfriend. They see me five days a week; I never cancel on them unless I am on leave from work. In actuality I cancel on my real friends a lot, most days I get off from work at around 7pm and all I just want to go home and sleep. 

During the weekends I also want to sleep but Leonard my boyfriend insists on all these date nights to keep the relationship alive. Why will he not just put on his pyjamas and watch TV with me all weekend? Sometimes its so annoying when he makes us double date with his best friend Thomas whose girl friend I find unbearable. She is someone I find very uninspiring and while the boys are yakking on about football, I have to listen to her soliloquy about her boring friends who according to her stories are all morally loose. She always asks about my job, but I do not want to talk about my job with her, I do not want to talk about my job period. I am not even sure I like my job; does anyone really love his or her job? I mean I get paid well, and I have somewhere to go to everyday. I used to moan about my job a lot to my friend Tracy until she told me she could not take it anymore, poor her she has not gotten a proper job since she left university a year ago it must be frustrating. I have not spoken to Tracy in a few months, but I like most of her pictures on instagram, she is really pretty and stylish, I hope that counts as keeping in touch. I miss her stories about her exciting dates though. I wonder where she finds all these interesting guys in London and I have to end up with Leonard. Do not misunderstand me he is awesome, but just very ordinary in many ways I am still in the relationship because no one better has showed up. He treats we well anyway, for my last birthday he got me a black mulberry bag, saw a lady yesterday who has the brown version, it looks much nicer than mine. I have to stop now though, need to sleep as I wake up everyday at 5am, work at 7am remember? Sigh.