dear brookings, I want you to be okay. dear everyone else, I want you to be well as well. That is to say, not so much well as not broken. Though I cannot fix you, nor would I want to. Perhaps merely a bit of unbrokenness now and then, eh? I am going to try another round of phonecalls soon. My mobile calling out is ridiculously overpriced, so I shall probably stick to calling cards + payphones, and you can always feel free to buy a calling card and call my room… Alex, Maren, and my mother have which was very nice, even if Aljo called at 06:30 and Maren called at 00:30… that confused me a bit. All that aside (I am finally going to the post office this afternoon–may your next week be filled with anticipation).
Here is how things work in Britain. We recieved a memo Thursday saying that the internet was going to be down Thursday and Friday instead of Wednesday (not that I knew it was supposed to go down then). It left us sometime Thursday evening and only returned just now. Many notices of “sorry, future issues have come up. thank you for your patience.” etc. Ahh what lovely bureaucracy. If only I could spell the word.
It is the first Tuesday of the month which means ¬£50 food cheque (score!) and since cheques were being handed out, Dr. Roos decided to pay me for last week's work… ¬£70. Our first months food cheque was ¬£20. I have spent a total of about ¬£250 so far, and much of that is starting stuff like pots, pans, and cute argyle sweaters. My job is posh and I am bloody grateful. If I wanted to spend conservatively, I could come out in the red… until breaks when I go crazy! When have I ever spent reasonably? As a side note, people have been buying me drinks and covering for stuff and things. Perhaps karma of paying for others is coming around. Or maybe the British know no other way to show friendship. wheeee
Walking back from campus today (I walk much farther to school now than I ever did for elementary or high school. The distance to middle school might be similar, but I rarely walked home then) I was rewarded with a delightful English rainshower. plopplopPLOPPLOPSPLASHSPLASH and then I drowned. Since then I've just been chilling in my pyjamas wondering if there's any use waiting for my clothes to dry.
On Sunday I made some terrible cookies. The metric system can be a bitch.. yar. I did see a very lovely film about pakistani-white relations in Scotland called Ae Fond Kiss with two British girls, though. I also think Lyn, a 26 year old with a boyfriend of five years, may or may not be courting me. So many older women in my life. All with boyfriends though, some, like Lyn, just choose to refer to them as “visitors.”
Friday night I went to indiesoc thingy and had two Blackthorns (like Strongbow-alcoholic cider) and a double vodka with diet coke. I was feeling good and danced until 3am. Greg sucked face with a nice girl named Georgina and danced with more boys than me. Then Greg and I shared a cab home (my first since being here, woo). It was filled with fun and excitement.
At some point I saw a lame horror film called Saw. See Saw!! Dare you see Saw? What a clever ad campaign.
It is nice that drinking is no longer an issue for me (though I still won't get drunk), but I wonder what will happen in the course of this year and what will happen once I get back and I am stuck at 20 for a year. Hmm.
I should wash my dishes. I should get a boyfriend. I should not care about such things.
I recieved my first letter yesterday. Bridget is beautiful and wonderful and marvelous. My dreams have become weird combinations of people and setting. One night I kinda floating around watching Jess from the Register. Last night Brandi and I went to see grandparents + dad. It was the typical sadness, happiness, excited to see us, uncomfortable fatherly emotions, and so on. I think my unconscious mind just wanted to fill the relative quota. I still do not know if my father knows I am in England. I get the feeling I will have father dreams for the rest of my life. That is the consequence of not wanting to resolve the issue.
Last night I booked a bus to London (£6.50) and two nights at a hostel (£17.80) which is extremely cheap. I am going by myself, and as a result, I am a wee bit nervous. It should be an amazing two days, and if anything becomes a problem I can throw money at it.
My hostel is on the edge of Hyde park, north of Chelsea and right in Kensington. Those are the posh yuppie (Sloan rangers!) areas of London. This will be brilliant! It was scary and exciting when I went to Minneapolis by myself, but I was meeting someone then. This will be entirely new and different, because it's bloody London!
“If you can't be happy in England, where can you be happy?”
and that is why I remain incredibly optimistic. it's been a more or less unbroken string of amazing moments.
super perfundo on the early eve of your day!
“cheers”