Today is Wednesday, April 27th. A week and two days ago +:
Monday, the 18th I go to work, come home, mail my books outs, grab my pounds from the bank, clean up a little, take out the trash, and go down to Habenero to get dinner with Jason. We chat about music (natch), and my upcoming trip. I love this man. He’s absolutely awesome, as a friend. After our food, we head back to the apartment, where I make him listen to the new Between the Buried and Me album (The Parallax), and he introduces me to The Joy Formidable. I know I’ve fallen in love one minute in, but the piece continues on for six more minutes. Glorious. I immediately download it, finding it only in FLAC. Dad calls, invites me down to Arlin’s, so Jason heads home and I wander down the street.
Dad and I chat about my upcoming trip, we drink some beer, and on the way back, I lend him season 4 of The Wire. At home, I push some clothes around, barely filling the suitcase. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, I think. I juggle skills on Eve, unsure of what to train, until I decide on Weapons Upgrades 5. Fuck yes, it’s 8 days. Shortly after, I hit the sack, the cat loving me all over. He doesn’t even know.
Tuesday, the 19th Work, of course, but tense with anticipation. Robbs wife, Sally, joins me in the booth, and we talk/bs about everything, as I show her the ropes. Easy stuff. I’m practically bouncing by the time I get out. Abera shows up an hour early, which gives me time to run around a lot before Mom and Caitrin show up. They watch as I assemble the last of my garments, put some cat food in a bag for the Fin, turn off everything, and stuf Phineas in his carrying case. He meows a bunch about it. Poor guy. We load up the car, but at the last moment, I remember I forgot something, so I run back up, turn the computer back on, load the phone with the Joy Formidable album, grab my phone charger, turn the computer back off, and get in the car. We drive to the cat clinic, where I hand him over. He clings to my shoulder first, and I almost cry. We drive home.
At home, I talk with Liam and Caitrin and Mom. We chat and laugh and plan for the next day. I hit the sack at 1030, not knowing how long tomorrow will be.
Wednesday, the 20th Wake up at 7, after a bad night of sleep. A little sore, but rested enough. Have some breakfast with Mom, which is always wonderful. I wake up Caitrin ten minutes before we leave, cuz she didn’t know to set her alarm, and then we’re in the car and driving to CVG. Laughter and love the whole way down. The day is overcast and drizzly, but not too terrible. At the terminal, I hug both of them, then walk inside alone.
Ticket counter, then TSA screening. I opt-out, and receive a very grabby pat-down. The man performing it is professional and kind, but he’s still rubbing my legs and ass and the inside of my waistband. I feel pretty awesome, though. Once through, I walk to my Gate, find out I’m almost two hours early, and so spend the time reading Makers and eating a cream cheese bagel I buy while listening to TJF and Adele. Two different flights are boarding next to each other at the same time, so the crowd is a pushy mess, but I make it into my seat, and off we go. I chat up the really nice Australian HR guy next to me for half the time, then our 1.3 hour flight is over. Fucking simple. Once we cleared the clourds, they didn’t break once between Cincinnati and Chicago. Solid clouds the whole way.
Once in O’Hare, I quickly find my next gate, and reel a little from the 3 hours of waiting before even boarding my next flight. More Makers, then a jazzed up hotdog, and the toilet for almost 45 minutes. Bad food, man. Not good. Once it passes, though, I don’t feel gross anymore. On a whim, I buy A Game of Thrones, even though I brought other books. Because of Adele and The Joy Formidable, my phone is slowly running out of batteries, so I find a plug and let it charge. At some point, I finish Makers. Damn good book.
Only twenty minutes then we all board up the 747. I get the aisle again, and am surrounded by British folk. A mom with two kids, two married women in the seats next to me, a college-aged women across the aisle, children and children and children. One of the kids reads the British Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone from The Sorting Hat through The Midnight Duel. In-flight movie is Tron: Legacy, but I just saw it on Thursday (when the power was out), so I watch the first half in French, while also reading Snow Crash. Out the window, the daylight fades fast, and yet the cloud cover never breaks. (I wish I’d taken pictures of it. It was gorgeous.)
The map on the screen between films shows we’re almost over the water past Canada, but the clouds remain. Dinner is a lasagna-ish thing, with a salad, a roll, and a brownie. I determine that my drink for this trip will be Ginger Ale, as I’d had it on the previous flight, and it still sounds delicious. The next movie is How Do You Know?, with Reese Witherspoon and Paul Rudd and Owen Wilson. It was fucking terrible. A pile of shit, in every sense. Cliched and stereotyped, full of cheesy dialogue and cheesier situations, rampant abusive relationships troupes played for laughs, and beyond horrible editing and musical cues. Fuuuuuuuuuuck. I could write a whole post about the shit wrong with that film. Of course, I watched all of it, rapt in horror.
Now we’re solidly in darknes and over the water. I’m not tired at all, and Snow Crash and The Joy Formidable keep my attention. With an hour or so left, I end up chatting with my neighbours, and we chat about their travels and my plans and things I should do/see. They’re wonderful, and very kind. This is my first experience with the phenomenon of hearing a forgeign language in the English if I don’t concentrate. Craziness.
Finally, we land and disembark. I chat up the women from across the aisle. She’s nice, and recommends various places in London to visit. I remember none, natch. Through immigration, where I’m asked about my stay, and the worker reads the cute email Amanda wrote me with directions. After that, I’m free to go, cuz it’s pretty obvious my intentions. Down the stairs, grab my bag, see a sign for the Underground, and away I go.
I check my phone as I walk, and it says 6:35 am, Thursday, the 21st. Around a corner, I see automated ticket windows for the Tube, but I’m not sure my directions, so I ask a guard, and he points me towards Victoria Station, which aligns with Amanda’s comments. Excellent. 5 pounds, and I have my ticket. Down two more sets of stairs, and I slid onto the car right before it takes off. “This is the Picadilly line to Cockfosters. Mind the gap when exiting.” My phone is dying, so I snap one last picture before turning it off. The sun is just coming up, and I realize my internal orientation is backwards. I’m actually facing south, headed east. It takes me twenty minutes of internal discussion to switch myself around. The Victoria Line station appears, so I exit and dash to the next train.
This one is a lot fuller, as everyone is now waking up and heading towards work, but very quickly I am alone. Finally, the line ends. Right as I stand, my nose begins gushing blood. Fuck. I hop out and hit the street in beautiful Brixton, to see a Starbucks next door. The bathroom tissue stems the blood, I buy a doppio con pana, and wander to a bus stop. Looking at the bus stops, I don’t immediately see any that go towards Brighton. Fuck. I wander for a bit, ask tqwo bus drivers, and finally, a helpful Briton tells me I need to take the tube up to Victoria Station and hop on the train there. Goddamn it, okay.
I walk back to the Tube, buy another ticket, this one only 4 pounds, and ride up to Victoria Station. Rereading Amanda’s note, she said Station, but I didn’t understand. Oh well. Exit at the right spot, check a map, walk round the block to the train station, purchase a ticket, run to the train, and enter with less than 30 seconds to spare before the doors close and the train departs. Reading the marquee, I can tell I have a while. Beautiful English countryside passes my window. At one point, I see four houses in a row, the same layout, with a person standing in the same spot in each, doing something different. One is drinking from a mug, one is patting a baby, one is washing their face, and the last is smoking a cig. Beautiful. I nap a little later on.
Finally, last stop is Brighton, and I exit to the sound of seagulls and cars. It’s 9:45 at this point. I hit the street, my eyes looking for a bus stop while my mind calculates taxi costs and timing issues and directions. A nice guard/helper asks my destination, then gives me the bus lines I need to take to Falmer: The 7 down to North Rd where all the busses go, then the 25 all the way to the University. I thank him, and he gives me a slip that’ll get me on any bus all day for only 2 pounds.
The 7 comes around the corner, I pay my 2, and we drive down. Exiting, I see the 25 coming down the way. Those must be tbhe Lanes, I think, as I board the 25. This time, I climb to the upper deck. I can see a couple shops down an alley, but then my focus is pulled forward as the bus drives onward. Minor panic, when I see a stop for University of Brighton, and quickly get off only to realize I’m on a different campus, and nowhere near Falmer. Another 25 turns the corner, though, and I enter that one, sitting tight this time. The wait at University of Sussex kills me, because I see the other bus drive off, but I breathe deep, and soon we’re pulling into the Falmer campus. I step off, look around, and start walking.
Down the hill, I walk to the dorms, but the sign only goes up to 6, when I need 30. What the fuck. A gardener points out the sign that shows every building, so I make my way to 30. (I later realize I took the longest path possible. Ha.) I come up to the door, ring the bell, and “Hello?” “Hey, Amanda.” I’m buzzed in, walk up the three flights, and we hug. She leads me to her room, I drop my things, we hug more, and discuss the day ahead. I see a clock display 11:30.
I think this a good place to stop. My thumbs hurt, and I need to talk to Amanda about that day.
