LONDON-NITIS
So I got back from London a week ago. It feels like yesterday! In a quirky twist of fate, my father scheduled a business trip to London, the same time I was having a spring break. Luck? Fate? I don't know. I've always considered myself a bloody lucky person, the kind who stumbles upon the most amazing things in the world when I'm least expecting it. So there. Another bullet point in my growing list of: "Why I Should Believe In The Existence of A Higher Power." Swamp my bank account with billions of gold nuggets and you have me.
My best friend, who does not read this despite multiple threatening emails of coercion, asked me to keep a notebook, a journal of sorts, just so I would have something to do while my dad was out galavanting with his English friends. And so I did. Best thing that I could have ever done. England in my head is a blurry swirl of memories. It wasn't London. It wasn't even the bombardment of sexy English accents from every direction, even though that kept me amused for days on the end. It was being people who are past the politeness, past the get-to-know-you mode, past all the social niceties. People who've seen you screaming up a riot, stark raving naked (not literally, because that would be disturbing and wrong), making the vilest decisions, and who still want to hang out with you in spite of all that. In spite of knowing that sometimes, you don't brush your teeth in the morning, sometimes your fashion sense would bring a fishmonger to shame, sometimes your breath is a biological weapon of terror, still stand within touching distance of you.
How amazing is that?
Despite my incessant tirade against this tiny town and the absence of life beyond the occasional squirrel, this tiny unpopulated town, isn't quite such a bad place. What I hate about it, is the lack of people who care about me, and who I can care about. Considering the amount of time I have spent here, extrapolating upon past experiences (because I'm an engineer, and engineers like to extrapolate and collect stamps), I should not be stuck at home on a weekend blogging. I should be out! In the sun! Frolicking amongst the squirrels, putting flowers in my hair, skipping through the streets, arm in arm with people I love, and who love me in return. People that I can get annoyed with, and irritate them till they would have me shot, and wake up the next day and still want to have lunch with them.
erghk.
So I got back from London a week ago. It feels like yesterday! In a quirky twist of fate, my father scheduled a business trip to London, the same time I was having a spring break. Luck? Fate? I don't know. I've always considered myself a bloody lucky person, the kind who stumbles upon the most amazing things in the world when I'm least expecting it. So there. Another bullet point in my growing list of: "Why I Should Believe In The Existence of A Higher Power." Swamp my bank account with billions of gold nuggets and you have me.
My best friend, who does not read this despite multiple threatening emails of coercion, asked me to keep a notebook, a journal of sorts, just so I would have something to do while my dad was out galavanting with his English friends. And so I did. Best thing that I could have ever done. England in my head is a blurry swirl of memories. It wasn't London. It wasn't even the bombardment of sexy English accents from every direction, even though that kept me amused for days on the end. It was being people who are past the politeness, past the get-to-know-you mode, past all the social niceties. People who've seen you screaming up a riot, stark raving naked (not literally, because that would be disturbing and wrong), making the vilest decisions, and who still want to hang out with you in spite of all that. In spite of knowing that sometimes, you don't brush your teeth in the morning, sometimes your fashion sense would bring a fishmonger to shame, sometimes your breath is a biological weapon of terror, still stand within touching distance of you.
How amazing is that?
Despite my incessant tirade against this tiny town and the absence of life beyond the occasional squirrel, this tiny unpopulated town, isn't quite such a bad place. What I hate about it, is the lack of people who care about me, and who I can care about. Considering the amount of time I have spent here, extrapolating upon past experiences (because I'm an engineer, and engineers like to extrapolate and collect stamps), I should not be stuck at home on a weekend blogging. I should be out! In the sun! Frolicking amongst the squirrels, putting flowers in my hair, skipping through the streets, arm in arm with people I love, and who love me in return. People that I can get annoyed with, and irritate them till they would have me shot, and wake up the next day and still want to have lunch with them.
erghk.
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