Sitting in the coffee house portion of my London hostel (St. Christopher’s Orient Express) is extremely disquieting. Perhaps it is the lack of quiet (Meatloaf + saucy barista = very scary). Tonight I might just eat a convenience store sandwich. Money is worrying me. Excesses of caffeine and deficiencies of non-chocolate tinged food cannot be helping matters. Agh. Maybe tonight I will just walk around soaking in the blaghness of it all. No Mike, Greg, or Heather plus the end of The Unbearable Lightness of Being is wearing/weighing down on me. For such a little traveller, I am not in the highest of spirits. I think I shall continue to blame a lack of true gastronomical fulfillment.
Life is rather crazy. A year ago I was far too concerned with a lack of Mike and an undramatic Christmas to work about much else, let alone think of a year abroad. Even now I wonder if there is some great burden keeping me from full enjoyment of what I am experiencing. Why can I not embrace those who are boisterous and full of life instead of grinding my teeth at them? Why do I focus more on the variables of public transport and less on the pure wonder around me? It seems certain that my priorities are fucked. Maybe I will start teaching myself Czech tonight. That could be a fun hobby. Or maybe I should write letters, listen to music, and dance with my confusion!(??) Why the hell knows? I need more solid choices. “Do or do not; there is no try,” and movie quotations to that effect. I think I require social skills to achieve, well, everything else. I need to be less afraid of excitement and adventure. I should take advantage of this shit.