Yep, I’m officially back in London. Over the course of the past two years, I’ve flown back and forth to my personal green light 4 times. Why oh why did I not decide to join Virgin’s flying club until now??? Just a few more rounds and I get one free!
Jetlag has attached itself to me like white on rice. I’ve never had a problem adjusting to the time loss that occurs when I fly east, but the severe delay of my flight really did me in. It’s been almost a week and I’m still in the habit of rolling out of bed in the middle of the afternoon, feeling as though it’s early morning. This hangover of a sleep schedule meant I was waking up to an empty flat, cooking alone, and generally feeling disconnected for the first few days I was back. I spent such a long time away that I was vaguely…surprised that everything looked just as it did the crazy morning I departed. In the past four years it’s been rare to return to anything that looks remotely the same.
a little slice of my Willow House sanctuary
Weekends, for the most part, are just as I remember (see title). Kat, Florence and I braved the freezing temperatures to return to central London and our favourite place to relinquish personal space- Tiger Tiger. The new moon was out last night, and the crazies swarmed around us in all their intoxicated glory. After spending as much time in coat check as we did on the floor, witnessing a bar brawl and having glasses shatter around our feet, we collectively sighed and axed the place from future Saturday itineraries. Wardrobe will remain the same (again, see title)
London club gear
but I’d rather sport these ensembles in Fabric or someplace a bit more upscale, where they weed out the fetal Eurotrash and 40+ crowd ::shudder::
By Monday things should be back to normal. An early interview near Blackfriars will do well to slap me out of my new nocturnal lifestyle, and resuming gospel choir should instill a sense of normalcy to my existence. It would be nice to see daylight for more than an hour per day. Then it’s back to the grind on Wednesday in retail so I can afford to continue my pricy organic diet. Seriously, I’ve never felt better, so I’m fully willing to pay for all this food. Recommitting to my 5-day 3k running schedule might aid in kicking my narcoleptic habit. At the very least, it should tire me out enough to put me to bed before 5 in the morning.
As we waited for the 72 bus at 3 am, it started to snow, but not enough to stick. We contemplated buying a small space heater to transport with us on nights such as this. And maybe purchasing a collapsible tent we could pitch in Hammersmith as we waited. I suggested ordering a pizza to the bus stop as it would surely be more than the 20 minutes Domino’s promises for delivery. Then, in all our sobriety, we discussed Bedknobs and Broomsticks and how lovely it would be if our beds would just fly out of our flat and come pick us up. Clearly, the new moon had gotten to us as well.
Next to us, a couple more pants-less wonders of the bleached blonde persuasion were drunkenly fighting with some strangers and sloppily spilling into the streets. One of them let out a bloodcurdling scream as her boyfriend tried to calm her down. Was that really necessary? In this particular fieldwork study, I posit there is no direct correlation between the wearing of pants and the possessing of class.
So this is what it means to be an adult- going away on holiday and coming back to deal with all the elements of your life just how you left them. Sigh- it’s time to get to work.
But it’s just the price I pay, destiny is calling me to open up my eager eyes… cuz I’m Mr. Brightside…
You look beautiful, pants or no pants… and I’m happy to see my collage safely overlooking your desk.
Please keep writing here, I’ll never get over how clever you can be.