I bet it's gonna last two seconds.

Sunday morning, Columbia Road flower market
The Netherlands

Dutch Love: Food & FEATURE

The Lamp

I can't believe I'm about to start my fourth week of classes here in London.  I've forbidden myself to count the exact number of days, but I know that I only have roughly two months left here.  I tell myself that it will be nice to have Netflix again and not to have to hunt around google for movie links.  And I'll hopefully have Sundance in late January with Julia.  I may even take a screen acting class when I'm back in LA.  I was in the studio here last week, my professor and production partner were putting up some equipment in the back office.  The stage lights were blaring in my face.  I was milling about in the center of the room.  And I experienced a strange urge to twirl.  And so I did.  And as I came to a halt from spinning in circles, I looked out beyond the dust motes at those empty seats and I asked myself am I doing what I want?  Sometimes I forget how little of a realist I am.

Life Goal: Cheshire Street

This is going to be a bit vomitous in terms of the multiplicity of content.  But I'm not going to apologize.  You will read the upchuck and you will enjoy it.

I woke up this morning at 8h20 [this will only make sense to one reader].  I left the house [I don't know why I typed that--I live in a room in a flat/hall] around 13h30.  I meant to leave before noon.  It takes me forever to get out the door.  Today's goal?  To plow through some reading at Brick Lane Coffee.  I found it on yelp over a week ago, and time kept passing and I kept not going.  I'm super glad I went.  Not only because it took me unknowingly down streets that I had walked with my mom when she was here that first week I arrived in the UK.  But also because it got me out of my room.  I'm a chronic homebody.  I just honestly enjoy bumming around my room:  laptop, book, learning dances.  Is it silly that I'm proud of myself for not caving in to my usual excuses?

I purchased the monthly tube pass and sometimes I'm concerned that I shouldn't have because I'm not using it as much as I did in my first couple weeks.  This brings on the eternal struggle:  do I walk for my health or do I tube for my wallet?  Compromise:  tube halfway, buy a screen protector for my camera [BECAUSE IN THE NL,  KHYAN REMOVED THE ONE I HAD] at the Whitechapel market, then walk to Brick Lane.  My route took me up Cheshire Street, which I had walked through once before with Kayley and Emma.  At some point in my life I want to rent a flat on that street.  It's so quiet and enclosed, but then also so close to the bustle of Brick Lane.  Notably I want to live across from the paper shop.  Many units are empty, with vintage clothing joints dotted in between.  There's a minuscule pub on one corner that's been closed whenever I've gone by--if I can't eventually go in, then I at least am going to go back with my camera.  I'll have books in the window.  And of course a cat [who will occasionally be in the window as well].  Naturally all of this is my imagination running wild.  But I'm stubborn enough to think that I can make this a reality.

When I arrived in London almost a month ago (!), my mom flew with me.  As much as I take pride in my independence, I was very glad to have her.  The plane ride I could have done by myself, the moving into my flat I did do by myself, however dragging two gigantic suitcases up and down stairs at multiple tube stations--that would have been a nightmare without her.  So it sounds like that I brought along my mom for her upper body strength.  But we also were able to spend some time together.  Some good bonding went down.  And I only got outwardly annoyed with her when she left me waiting in the rain by the toilets at Windsor Castle.  And a little exasperated when she wanted us to go salsa dancing in the basement of a bar while we were out with Kayley and her mom.

Camera Scraps

The Outside

She carries a bag.  An overnight bag, checked and buffed.  She sways.  Alone.  Is she on her way home?  Did she just come from home?  What does she carry?  Is it just the damp washing she's crammed in or has she been kicked out?  Broken off with?  Carried out a breaking off?  This thing has been tossed.  She flees--slowly but surely.  No--resolutely.  And now she takes the tube home.  With the things she could think to collect.

Something slips from her hand.  The sensation is barely registered by her fingers, but then she sees that what was once clasped against her phone is gone.  A young woman in the seat she stands by picks up the travel card and hands it to her.  She smiles and mutters a thank you.  She must be tipsy.  Not too much to drink, but just enough to dull the senses.  Just enough for a card to drop unnoticed.  As she plans to.  Drop. Away.
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