Come quickly now.

The air hangs heavily today.
Oh, la! We’ve got a lot to learn from each other,
we have got to stick together.

All’s well, and here I am, sitting at my desk at home. Just sent a mass text to the Loring Family members and received immediate joyous responses. God, free unlimited texting is great.

The flight was alright. Very quiet; I had a window seat and a nearly-invisible girl sitting next to me. Slightly painful because of my back pains. Curses to wheel-less suitcases! It’s only fitting that my fiery hot sauce– which exploded everywhere, no matter whose fault it was– will cleanse the devil out of it.

Like I’d predicted, I spent 6 hours in the airport, and 8+ on the plane. I was literally a raving maniac alone in a crowd of people… Because of this:
IRONICALLY, the only book I bought for myself in the airport was London Fields. After THREE MONTHS of looking for it in every bookshop I went into– be it in Camden market, Euston Sq., Waterloo Stn., Oxford, Stratford, etc.– I finally find it in the airport. So I bought it, duh. I read it immediately for the following 4 hours and words cannot describe whatever I was feeling with that. I became COMPLETELY manic while reading and I had to move my seat every half an hour because I was freaking people out with my outbursts.

I didn’t finish it yet, but I’ll let you know. It makes me feel a little better about leaving London, but it simultaneously made me wish I’d actually stopped on Portobello Road and took the tube to London Fields.

Everything is much the same, except for me. Daria said she thought maybe things would be new here because we would be new people, viewing things through different eyes. Instead, the suburbs have just made me sad. I haven’t even talked to people yet, but you can tell by the aura of the place: Amis had a point in the beginning of London Fields about the people of London, but it’s too early to bring it up. You’d think me judgemental.
I don’t have a car, but I don’t think I can leave just yet.
It’s like being back in the womb. But with a Kyetty.

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doo doo doo dying is fine.

Someone has my favorite mug.

I’m itching for new music, but my usual music database doesn’t work over here. That makes me sad, but we were looking for gigs to go to around here soon.
I found tickets for Dan Black, Hot Chip, Rodrigo y Gabriela, Phoenix, Do Make Say Think, Decemberists, etc.
I’ll probably only go to Dan Black + Rodrigo y Gabriela, and then find a good live venue to hang out at. Apparently the New Cross Inn down the street isn’t too shabby, and The Barfly in Camden plays a lot of up-and-coming hipsters.

You aren’t interested in music so much, so…
Classes are bizarre. During my Political Economy class, everyone around me was doodling boredly. (Hey, arts college.) The kid in front of me drew the Doctor being eaten by an alien. I drew him as Frankenstein. It was funny. I didn’t learn anything in that class today because it was like taking Macro again. UK/Euro Governance is still a mind-shatterer, despite the 3 hours I set aside this morning for a crash course in British politics. 

My neighborhood, view from the 171 upper deck bus:
New Cross Gate

What happens because the laundry sucks:
laundry jungle, phase 1

The cutest:
Kyetty

Kelly and Kaycee are doing yoga at 8am tomorrow, so I’m ready for that. Tomorrow is also TACO TUESDAY again. Unbelievable how quickly time passes. It really is.
There’s so much left to do and see and photograph and eat and write about.

Summer Yawn

Hi Mom.
Hello all readers, ye who are suffering from varying degrees of boredom and/or incurable nosiness. It’s just past midnight of August the 18th, as you can see, which means I shall be departing for London in exactly one month now.

You know what else that means: FIVE more days of work. Thirty days to transform my box into an impeccably clean room. Thirty days left to smother my Kyetty in affection. Thirty days to work on my Welsh grammar and vocabulary– what they call their “sgwrs, geirfa, ac ymarfer“.

Oh! And a month to prune the foulness and drivel from other sites. Because I’m assuming what little family I have will be following my lovingly (and realistically!) G-rated exploits on here.

Verbosity aside, I’m pretty stoked. I’ll be balancing my time between classes, travelling (oot and aboot), making new friends, and hanging out with the other Americans who are attending the same Uni programme as I. Chiefly: Daria, Karen, Chris L, Joe P, and Kelly.

Daria and I spent the evening at Starbucks creating our bukkit-listz and traditional superlatives. She also gave me a rundown on what happens in an airport because, duh! I’ve never been in one. Don’t assume.
Daria and I also looked over the list of movies we can watch on the flight, and there isn’t enough time for all of them. But I can watch CORALINE. WOO. Or I could give myself a seizure and watch Crank 2 again.

But here I am, teetering on the edge of a srs faceplant.
Dig? Enough is enough, but how much is too much?