I always like to start off my blogs with a little bit of sunshine. But there isn't really any sunshine in London right now, so I'll have to begin with this sort of yeastyish infection that I may be developing. I have only had one yeast infection in my life and it wasn't even that bad, it just went away with the cream, and I didn't have to use those horrible "vaginal suppositories." Seriously if I could make a list of phrases that I would never want to hear or see on a cardboard box again, it would be that one. Anywho, I am not completely sure what's up, but I am hoping that it will go away on its own. Personally, I'm blaming it on dehydration. So I'm drinking lots of water and peeing more often which is good. I just really don't want to go to a British doctor. The thought of a suave handsome young British gentlemen telling me to scoot down, put my feet in the stirrups, and saying "just let your legs fall open, love" is too horrifying to contemplate any longer than I already have.
I'm not particularly religious because I believe I have spent too much time on that tripe already in my short life. But I do believe in forces of nature working for or against people. Today I was one of those people. Mackenzie and I did our best to ditch the group after we toured Westminster Abbey and were going to take the tube back to our flat and maybe go to a Quaker meeting (for a contact and for Mackenzie's personal journey of faith or whatever). But it was not to be. We did not know what train to get on so we waited for a while and left on the disrict line which would have connected to the circle line which we needed to get on. Unfortunately, the circle line was suspended between a large number of stops so we were forced to get on another line Hammersmith, unfortunately that was closed to. So after a few aboveground walking stints, some false starts, and some totally indiscreet map viewing we found our way to the metropolitan line which eventually took us to our stop. Actually, whilst typing this, it does not seem like such an big undertaking, but for someone who has been in London for 4 days, it was quite an experience. Everyone is telling me I will have to adjust and that I will eventually "ride the rollercoaster" of emotion that comes with moving and adjusting to a different country. Right now I miss two things: can openers and television. It seems that with everything I have done the hardest, by far, has been to open a can of Irish stew. Unfortunately, the can opener in our flat (albeit one that we were provided with) does not work though we have all tried to use it in various and creative ways. And so far the only inkling of homesickness I have felt in this journey has been when I could not open that FUCKING STUPID CAN OF IRISH STEW. And I guess I was also a little angry at the fact that I could not open the can. For a second, maybe I thought "the Irish can keep their fecking stew, I'm going back to Chicago to get a real can opener." But I'm still here and the Irish stew is still in the can. This could be a result or faulty kitchen utensil or it could be the result of my total incompetence in the realm of cooking. But I prefer to see it as God, or maybe Pamela Anderson, telling me to not eat mutton.
One thing that I have noticed is that I have no sense of time or date. I don't have a watch and I just recently got my cell phone and I suppose I am still a little jet-lagged, but for some reason I can not get a hold of the time and date. I think it's because of television. At home, I watch a lot of T.V. I pencil television into my schedule. I plan my days around my favorite programs. Of course, here the programs are different. Of course they have a lot of American television, too much in some cases, but the basic shows at the basic time that I watch them are not on in Great Britain. And it's totally fucking with my mind. Army Wives wasn't on last night so I have no sense of time after 9 p.m. And what about Intervention or The Hills? If people weren't addicted to crystal meth and Lauren wasn't feuding with Heidi, Monday would just be a blur. And what about the new shows I will miss. The Real World/Road Rules challenges, the new season of E.R.? Am I just supposed to stop caring about them? Leave them behind while I go pursue other interests like, oh I don't know, seeing some of the greatest historical sights in the world? I suppose I have no other choice. Sure, I can watch some shows on-line and really, The Hills isn't rocket science, it's not even reality. But it still makes me think. If I can't get through a week without television show to keep me on track. If I can't make it without feeling that tingly suspense right before a new episode of one of my favorite shows begins. Will I come back to the U.S. a changed person? Will I somehow become more of a person of substance? Or will I just become more of a chronic masturbator. I guess only time and the good Lord will tell.
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