The nature of life is that there are a lot of bad days. We're essentially really really really smart monkeys living within a complex social and economic structure that we depend on because our preferred/required habitats have been niched to the point of non-existence in the natural world. We fuck each other over, starve each other to death, kill each other en-masse, beat the crap out of our young, and generally make life miserable. Every. Single. Day. All because we're all sort of scared we won't get enough to eat, crave control and desperately need to be loved and valued. And because significance is the one thing we can never really believe we have in the grand scheme of the universe once we actually start to contemplate the scale of it all. Or if we're left alone for too long.
In light of that over-arching reality, Friday, November 8th, 2013, was actually a pretty good day for me. From my limited personal perspective, constrained by my ongoing delusion that I am the center of the Universe (at least as it pertains to me) and that the comparison of my suffering to others is semi pointless as I cannot possibly really empathize with them in any real way, Friday, November 8th, 2013 was a fucktastically craptastic day. In every way possible, short of a relative dying of a sudden heart attack.
From that very limited perspective, it was a Terrible, Horrible, Shitty, No Good, Awful, Very Bad day with exactly two bright spots. Each of which lasted less than an hour. I started my Terrible, Horrible, Shitty, No Good, Awful, Very Bad Day 12ish hour before Friday actually began with a minor social disappointment on Thursday. One of those times when you suddenly realize you are maybe not as cool as you wish you were, or when you suddenly realize that you and another person are NOT on the same page. And that because you are NOT on the same page, you've likely made people very uncomfortable. Which is awesome.
NOT.
So Friday morning I was already a little sluggish, a little sheepish and feeling a bit put off by the Universe in General. That was before I woke up. At 7:02am. I should note here that I had a non-refundable, non-transferable bus ticket to go to London that was scheduled for exactly 7:28am. At a location that is (by foot) about 35 minutes away from where I live. The resulting stumble out of bed, into clothes and towards the door meant that Callie did not shower, Callie did not eat and Callie forgot her actual wallet. She brought her old wallet. The one that stuff falls out of, and that she had a few things in, but notably not cash. Yay step one. I took my bike, locked it at the Downing Site and then ran to catch my bus. Which I reached just as it pulled out. First (of two) small victory of the day: I got a window seat. First victory soured: said window seat was under an air-conditioning vent that was stuck on high. I froze my ass off while reading Gender Trouble by Judith Butler for the next 2 hours.
London was everything I'd imagined. Cold. Wet. Confusing. Ancient. Modern. Cosmopolitan. Entertaining. Kinda like New York, but Not.
And expensive. Particularly for a person without everything they need in their wallet. Traveling one of my most favorite things to do is to just sort of pick a direction and walk. Just to see. What are the stores, the little hole-in-the-walls. Who is driving by. It's a good strategy. In a city where it doesn't rain. All the time. Every day. All day long. I'm from Portland. I should have been prepared. But alas, in my stumble out the door and towards the stairs I'd pulled on a cotton jacket. I had an umbrella. But not a real coat, and certainly not the kind of coat tat keeps one happy and warm when walking through 40 degree rain all day long.
I did see Buckingham Palace, and the Halls of Justice, and a cool little market thing. I walked through a park and even bought some postcards and stamps at a post office where my Visa worked. It was at Buckingham Palace that my little Canon Powershot finally kicked the bucket, and somewhere between there and the Victoria Tube station that my University ID card (also known as the key to my house, my library card and my meal ticket) mysteriously disappeared. But on I persevered. This was London, I'm an American, and Yes is a much much much much better answer EVERY TIME than no.
Keep walking? Yes.
Look at the Thames? Yes.
Stare into a coffee shop dreaming of food? Yes.
Check my facebook messages and email only to continue a non-productive semi-painful argument with a dear friend/relative? Hell Yes.
Yes. Yes. Yes. I'd actually come to London to see a cousin whom I last saw when I was 11 or 12. We were going to meet at 2:30. But the Tube had a hiccup, and our hour long meeting turned into a rushed 20 minutes in a Starbucks.
That 20 minutes was the second bright spot. And it was a good bright spot. I am occasionally amazed at the intelligence and talent of people I am related too. It is awesome.
Then I caught a bus. That got stuck in traffic for four hours.
Four. Hours.
By the time I pulled into campus, my phone was out of battery (and credit), I was sopping wet, freezing and mad at the world (should not have read Carol Gilligan all the way back) and ready to bawl. But I'd committed to reviewing an orchestral piece. And failed to invite a friend. So I gave the second ticket away, loved the show and went home (with no uni-card) to no food (hadn't gone shopping) and a bit of mail letting me know that a package I'd been really really looking forward to was going to cost me 50 UK Pounds to collect.
Because apparently 10 year old cowboy boots need a helluva tax.
And oh, then Sunday I broke my phone.
Today (Tuesday) is as of yet, significantly better. I rowed a 1:49 500 meter for NWBC NW1 and even if I am socially awkward, phone-less, camera-less, uni-card-less, antagonizing to my relatives/friends, cold, tired, hungry and can't have my cowboy boots, Friday is over.
And you know what? Even though there won't be a blog with pictures again for a bit, I never have to live that Friday again.
Rock on.
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