Before we get to ‘the goods’, I’m going to need to set the mood a little here. In order for that to happen, however, I need audience participation. So go ahead and press ‘play’ on the video below, grab a box of Kleenex, and let’s do this: the last. London. post.
(This, however, is not the last ‘European post’, as I have still yet to fill you in on my last few amazing trips. [I realize that London IS in fact in Europe, so this has already gotten complicated. So: last post about London, post(s) still to come on non-London adventures.] I guess this means that I’m not completely abandoning you, then…which could be a good or bad thing. Once again, depends on how you look at it.)
I just had the biggest epiphany in recent memory. As I sit here, realizing that my time in London is drawing to a close, I’m experiencing a familiar sensation. I’ve felt it for awhile, now, but I haven’t been able to place it until this very moment. It should have been obvious, with the sad music blaring in the background, the tubs upon tubs of ice cream, and horrible ‘chick flicks’ on constant loop, but I suppose I’ve missed the signs due to denial: I’m heartbroken. I feel exactly the same way about having to leave my favorite place on earth as I have in the past with romantic breakups. Huh…for someone who avoids relationships like the plague, I can honestly say I didn’t see this coming. I thought being in love with a destination made me immune to feelings of the heart, but I suppose at the end of the day, love is love and heartbreak is heartbreak. I fell in love with this city 5 years ago during a simple semester abroad. I always vowed to myself that I would live in London again someday, and wouldn’t you know it-it happened. So before I become too engulfed with despair over this breakup, I need to remind myself that this is not the end. Instead of the typical breakup pattern of losing weight, buying a new wardrobe and chopping off my hair, I will work my way towards gainful employment in this amazing country. Mainly because I think losing weight is silly, and I just finished off an entire pizza. But that’s the thing-London loves me, just as I am, horrible eating habits and all.
Words cannot express how marvelous this past year+ has been; I have traveled to more destinations than I could have hoped for, developed more into the adult I’m slowly supposed to be, and have met more inspiring people who mean more to me than they will ever know. That’s one thing that’s so hard for me in my last few hours here: knowing how far away these new friends will now be. Big Ben and the Tate Modern will always be in the same places upon my next visit, but never again will I live in this city with all of the amazing people I’ve become lucky enough to call ‘friend’. But I suppose this also has its advantages, as now I have even more places to visit during my next adventures. (Brace yourselves, guys-I’m coming for you. Some day. When I have money and free time again. I might be 70, but I’m still coming!)
I’ve been ignoring a lot of comments and questions on Facebook, and for that I need to apologize. (This whole post, in case you haven’t noticed, is super whiny and is about to get more so. Hey man, I’m a woman scorned-you had to realize there’d be irrational emotions appearing at some point in this post.) I haven’t addressed what is next on my agenda, simply because I don’t know yet; for anyone who is looking for employment right now, this is fairly obvious why. The real world is hard for many reasons, but trying to find a job that combines the passion for what you’ve just dedicated yourself to study with what’s actually available is a tricky process. And by ‘tricky’ I, of course, mean ‘non-existent’. And this is temporarily frightening. I haven’t expressed excitement on returning to the States, because (apart from seeing family and friends), I’m not. It’s a shit thing to say, but just in case I’ve ignored you in the past, know that it’s not you, it’s me. I’m being a moaner, and I will hopefully get over this before I pull a Glenn Close in ‘Fatal Attraction’.
It’s my last night here in this glorious city, for in the morning I will load up my suitcases into my taxi and make my final trip to Heathrow. Whether or not my suitcases will meet the weight limit is another question, as I’ve chosen to be really silly and not ship anything back. I have, therefore, sacrificed more items of clothing that I can shake a stick at just so I can bring each and every book that I’ve acquired during this academic quest. Books are more important to me than a peacoat or jumper, and so this is now very much reflected by the contents of my luggage. If you would have told me this would the case 3 years ago, I would have laughed in your face and clutched my nude pumps while whispering ‘I’ll never leave you’ in a really creepy voice. I guess this is what adulthood looks like: the ending of the phase where talking to inanimate objects is a common occurrence, and the beginning of the phase where your carry-on is filled with nothing but books. Heavy, heavy books. How in the world I’m going to get that thing in the overhead compartment is beyond me, but that’s a story for a different day. (Unfortunately that day is tomorrow…)
So, minions, I give to you: the last true ‘Lollygagging in London’ post. From now on, the ‘Lollygagger’ will simply be a wandering girl in search of her next European excursion.