I can count the amount of days left in London on one hand.
How can every word they sing be so perfect?
How can they bring me back to myself?
Every time I listen?
The world is full of such mysteries, and such miracles.
Jack Wills post will be done over the weekend, when my roommates aren’t breathing down my back.
You know Christmas is coming when Tchaikovsky and Trans-Siberian Orchestra take over my playlist. Only one question: Where are all my Chipmunks tracks?
Signs it is sure to be a good day (~1:15pm):
– Found £5 on the way to work
– Nick put on Merriweather Post Pavilion this morning, an album I haven’t been able to listen to since coming to London because it never transferred over to my new Macbook.
– Internet didn’t connect, so we all got sent home at noon
– So free bedroom for the day while my roommates are still at their internships
– All my internship applications are out
– Journalism advisor has already approved my internship credits
– My iPod is synching to my computer and therefore ALIVE (for now)
– Am rediscovering American Idiot
Sign that it is STILL a good day (but not without consequences):
– Had a 45 minute phone call with James about getting together again. Pro: could potentially hang with him and see any combination of the Lake District, Liverpool, Scarsborough, Whitby. Con: he can only hang out the weekend I booked Oxford. Dilemma: scrap my £17 Oxford/Cotswolds ticket to see him, or go to Oxford/Cotswolds and not see him. OR book Oxford another day and spend more money to see it by myself, having to skip the Cotswolds altogether. Conclusion: a serious sacrifice must be made.
Right now, my mind is swimming with packing and getting ready for Scotland Take 2. Hopefully strange people will agree to take my picture, since I’m traveling solo. Also, should I stoop to buy Twilight for the bus ride? More indecision to come tomorrow. Lindsey signing off.
I absolutely love it when they play Beatles on the radio here.
She’s in love with me and I feel fine.
Listening to The Leisure Society, and please never take me away from this country.
– I absolutely cannot STAND class breaks at weird hours where people come down to the library and act as if they were at a party. It’s obnoxious and kills my concentration when I really, really need to get things done.
– British people don’t wear raincoats. This puzzles me. Although, if it rained all the time back home, I’d probably get sick of carrying one around too.
– The small pack of Digestives costs 99p. The big pack costs 68p. This doesn’t make sense to me, but it does make sense to my tastebuds. I really can’t believe I’ve eaten as much as I have already.
– My rainboots, or ‘wellingtons,’ are a big hit here. It makes me smile.
– People don’t talk on the Tube. And when they do, they are American. Well, obviously we’re seen as boisterous and loud when everyone else doesn’t SPEAK.
– Classes are so relaxed here compared to Boston. You have no idea how much of a relief it is that I get to spend 6/7 nights a week out.
A very boring entry, so please bear with. It’s late and not much !!! went on today except sitting and listening. So I apologize for a picture-less entry.
Today a scheduled fire drill woke us up at 9:15 and it was windyyyy outside. The greatest news: still no sign of rain. Pre-class preparatory lectures were given on abroad policies, Britain & Europe and Empire/Britain at the Royal Geographical Society on Exhibition Road from 10am-4:30pm. Afterwards, Zach and Melissa and I went to Sainsbury’s to get some more supplies for the room (like Milk Chocolate Digestives and pink toilet paper!) before heading back. I took a nap during the interval, then at 6:45 the Sorbonne’s Basement & 1st Floor kids went out with our RA Chris to this restaurant called Dim T, where I ordered some steamed white rice and Chicken Katsu Curry for £9.60. It was delicious, and I still have half left over for dinner tomorrow.
After Melissa and I searched and found a post box for her letter, we went back to the room to find our roommate Jennifer sipping some cheap white wine. We both decided to have glasses. Melissa and I had talked about going out for a pint and possibly taking a walk down to Piccadilly Circus or taking the tube to Westminster to see the lights of Parliament but were sidetracked by roommate Kelly’s mom who came to chat. Yadda yadda yadda. We didn’t go out after all, but instead wrote down a list of the things we wanted to cover on our own while on our stay:
– pictures of Parliament at night
– drink a good pint at a historic English pub
– shop at Harrods
– ride on top of a double decker bus
– take a photo inside a red phonebooth
– stand on Platform 9 3/4
– attend a Westminster morning service
– take a picture with a palace guard
– Trafalgar Square
– Portobello Road
– Hampton Court Palace
– St. Paul’s Cathedral
But then we got sidetracked when like 10 people streamed in with our other roommates to invite us out clubbing, to which we responsibly said no! Because we have lectures at 9:15 tomorrow morning. Then I iChatted with Mark, took a shower, cleaned the dishes, tidied up the room, and wrote this entry!
I have dreamed of coming to London my entire life, and I am finally here. But what is most startling, and what I think about most often, is how really familiar London feels, as if I’d been here years before. Italy felt like some fantasy land, some visually stimulating fairy tale, but London has so far proven to be so much more present, so much more tangible. I really, really thought it would be as magical and as perfect as I dreamed it would be. But it isn’t magical. London, everything about it, holds some comfort I cannot quite place. As if it were providing clarity in a way that no stories or family history could have ever granted. Coming to London has not made me fall any more in love with it because I have been in love with it all along. I am just now able to do what I was meant to do here. I was meant to live.