NOT THE CHEERIEST POST

I don't really know if I have anything to say or not, but I feel like I should post.

Basically, I think I'm going to be stuck in Gipsy Hill with no contact with the outside world for the next month, starting Wednesday. On the one hand, I don't want to say anything that will cause anyone to worry or anything. On the other hand, when I was stranded in Spokane, it was sheer hell, and I'm a little scared that I'm headed for hell again, even though it doesn't seem like I've managed to completely extricate myself even now.

Thinking about the fact that other people have it far worse in this world doesn't seem to cheer me much, for some reason, although I'd like to point out that it's very inconsiderate of people in, say, Nigeria, to have a rough time and detract from my own self-obsessed wallowing in grief.

I was trying to figure out last night how to extricate myself from hell, and to be honest, I haven't come up with a solution yet. At first I thought, well, if I just keep myself from *wanting* anything, I'll be fine. It has helped somewhat, in the sense that I don't currently think of things like movies or shoes or anything like that (paragraphs about friendship with or apologies from Matthew could be written here, but I won't) to be within the realm of possibility, so I don't think about them and don't want them.

But the problem is that the people I care about are having really crappy lives, and I'm not going to go into too much detail about that, but suffice it to say that it's horrible. And I can't do anything to help, can't affect anything, and that's harder for me than anything. I just used "anything" three times in one sentence. So sue me.

At any rate, the only way I could end the pain would be to stop caring about anyone, and obviously that's not something that's going to happen. Pain isn't a valid reason to change your life and become something evil. I mean, let's face it, love for other human beings is the only thing that makes life worth living.

So I've come to the conclusion that hell is just where I live for a while, and although I'll keep trying to get out of it, I don't see an end any time soon.

Sorry that sounds so depressing, it's just accurate.

Anyway, if you don't hear from me for a while, it's nothing to worry about, it's just that I can't get to a computer, and can't dial out on my telephone. It's really not the end of the world, er, unless God has something going on that he hasn't told me about.

ANNOYING ROOMMATES

I just realized that I didn't tell you about the annoying things my roommate did over the last three days, and I can tell you're just dying to know.

Actually, it has more to do with the fact that he does annoying things constantly, and I never post about them, so I'm afraid that it looks like every now and then I have a fit for no good reason at all.

He went out of town for three days for the New Year holiday--and left a sinkful of dishes and laundry in the washing machine. This may not seem like such a big deal, but the dishes meant that I had the choice of watching things rot in the sink or doing his dishes, and if I wanted to wash clothes myself, I'd have to do something with his clothes that were in the washing machine.

Whenever he comes home and I have laundry in the washing machine or dryer, he makes put-out noises and asks when I'll be through with them because he has "lots of laundry to do, and really needs to get it done." Every single time. So, of course, I had laundry in the dryer when he got home this morning, and he asked in a put-out voice if I was finished with the washing machine now, because he had lots of laundry to do and really needed to get it done.

I am so sick of him.

I think the main reason the dishes thing bothers me so much is that he tries so frequently to get me to do his dishes. And I don't cook because it takes dishes. I'm serious. I have sandwiches, because that means all I have to dirty is a knife. And he makes full meals, with a pot or pan for the entree, vegetables, pasta, etc., and he uses several plates and there is a minimum of two teacups. Which is not any of my business except for the fact that he wants the woman who uses one knife per day and washes it herself to do his dishes for him.

All right, I'll stop complaining now.

Oh, dear. There are some really loud, annoying Americans in here. I would like to take this opportunity to apologize on behalf of my entire country. They seem oblivious to the fact that no British people are standing on opposite sides of the Internet cafe, shouting to one another.

HAPPY GNU YEAR

So last night was New Year's Eve. I decided to stay in, because trying to figure out how to get home after the trains stop running is really too much effort for anyone. There were massive fireworks everywhere, and I have decided that next year I definitely need to go to Edinburgh for the whole thing, because evidently they have the most fabulous fireworks, like, ever. They feel this extreme rivalry with Sydney (as in Australia), and feel obligated to point out just how many more fireworks they have this year than those Aussie blokes.

Incidentally, I don't remember whether or not I mentioned this, and I'm too lazy to go look, but within five minutes of returning home again, Peter started complaining about the noise the neighbors make again. Different time--he said that they always made lots of noise on New Year's Eve, and that the people next door had the nerve to be fighting for two solid hours last weekend--from 2 until 4 in the afternoon. Could I just state for the record that you'd have to do something pretty loudly and pretty consistently for me to care that you were making noise on a Saturday afternoon from 2 to 4?

At any rate, today, people were still stumbling around, drunken, at 2:00 in the afternoon, obviously on their ways home. And the tube floor was covered in vomit. I had to find the car that smelled the least bad, thinking that by the time I arrived at my destination, I, too, would smell like puke. I was considering telling people it was a new fragrance from Chanel. Eau d'hurl, or perhaps Eau de speu.

I briefly considered making a New Year's resolution last night. It seems like a convenient time to reevaluate your life and try to figure out what you want to change. Then, I thought, what would I resolve? To look for a new job? I've been doing that since March. Every single bloody day. To lose weight? I tried that over the summer, and ended up in the hospital. And now I'm just trying to find a way to not eat very much and yet, you know, remain conscious. Quit drinking alcohol? Check. I don't smoke. I've never taken an illegal drug.

New Year's resolutions seem to be about saying, this is the action I am going to take to change my life. If this last year has taught me anything, it is that regardless of my actions, sometimes I just can't control or even significantly affect my own life. I spend literally hours every day trying to figure out what I'm doing wrong and what I could possibly do to try harder and accomplish something--anything. I cry over it.

Perhaps I should do an anti-resolution. Like say, this year, I'm going to do bugger all. I'm going to start smoking, drink like a fish, sit around on my butt and eat like a horse. I'm going to stop applying for jobs, stop trying to mend relationships, and care more about what kind of a car you drive than about how you treat your mother.

By this time next year, I'd probably have every dream I ever had come true.

Anyway, it appears that Peter got a George Foreman Grill for Christmas. I find it hilarious that this product has made it over here. I have this theory that the rotisserie chicken thing is going to show up in another six months. Mark my words--it will be here in June. I shall make my fortune as a prognosticator.

I wonder why it is that The Dead sometimes tell people where they've lost their mother's wedding rings, but never which stocks to buy?

In other random thoughts, I love this new chrome nail polish that Charity sent me. I think she is polishing her nails vicariously. I think I'm the only woman in my family who has successfully quit biting her nails, (I almost said "biting my nails," but realized that Natalie has never, technically, bitten my nails, although she once begged me to let her because they were long and she thought that it would be strangely satisfying) and Charity thought, well, if *I* had fingernails, this is what I would paint them with.

The only strange thing about this nail polish is that it is really really shiny, as in, really does look like chrome, and when I turn the lights off at night, I occasionally see things reflected in them, and it freaks me out. If there is a tiny amount of light coming from the window, it reflects off of the nails and they look like they're glowing. This is disturbing when it happens at, say, three in the morning.

With all of Peter's wakefulness, I have lost the ability to fall asleep before 2 am. It is often later, and sometimes I only sleep for an hour or so before he gets up at 6:45. I usually manage a few hours after that, but I don't think this is going to be healthy. You know, like if I ever start working again.

I really want a job.

Er, scratch that, I really want a paycheck.

I am trying hard not to think about things like shopping. If my shoes rip, I try not to think about it. It would only be frustrating. But honestly, I'd really like to go shopping.

Well, I guess this is a good time to go look for work again. Nobody will actually be around to look at the resumes I send off, since they're still sleeping off hangovers, but at least I'll have the illusion of having accomplished something.

THE MOST ENTERTAINING POST IN MY BLOG, II

So...the British things that amuse me today:

Firstly, there are advertisements for "The World's Greatest Air Guitar Album--II". Does this strike anyone else as funny? And they say that irony is lost on Americans.

Secondly, the sportscasters are terribly excited about the fact that the English cricket team has done so well. I mean, yes, they still lost, but they didn't lose by so great a *margin* this time!

They actually said that on the news. I'm serious.

Incidentally, every so often I get irritated by all of the American-bashing. I think it's the most irritating when it comes from Canadians, who, let's face it, benefit just a tad from being the neighbor of the U.S. I mean, I'm as "anti-American" as the next person when it comes to being disgusted with our lack of international relations, and no, I didn't and wouldn't vote for Bush, because I think he's an idiot. I think the consumerism is appalling, etc. etc. etc. But not *every* person in the U.S. is an uneducated, fag-bashing yokel. And yes, I would agree that it is horrible to see a Gap going up in an historical landmark in France, but, uh, there appear to be actual French people purchasing things in the store, and I don't tar the entire country with the same brush because of them.

Honestly, none of this comes from my friends.

I guess the latest was this woman going through this book on the train, and scoffing loudly because someone used the term "British" instead of "English" in a sentence. And I thought, you know, I'd put ten bucks on the fact that she probably says "America" when she means "U.S." all of the time. And yes, there are people who live in the Western hemisphere who get uptight about that, too.

I went to dinner with some friends the other night, actually, and had a really good time. When I first got here, I ended up meeting a lot of people who really care about little more than who has the most star-power, and who gets invited to the coolest parties. It gave me a pretty skewed view of the residents of this city, and it's been nice to spend more time with others now. I'm developing much more of a life.

I think that in the next couple of days, I might type up a couple of essays or something and post them, because I've been nothing but a bundle of gloom since I started this blog, and it's getting tiresome.

THE RISE AND FALL OF THE FIRST ARGUMENT

Well, Peter is back, and he did the very British thing, you know, walking up to me, realizing that he needed to talk to me sometime, but not wanting to ever mention the argument again. I told him very politely that we didn't need to have any bad feelings, but that he really does have a different set of rules for himself than he does for other people. I said that if he wanted to stay up late and being inconsiderate of the neighbors regarding the noise level, then he couldn't complain when they did the same. But if he wants to complain about the neighbors, that is also all right, as long as he is also quiet. I told him it was his choice, but he couldn't have it both ways.

Firm and yet kind.

Anyway, he's going to be quiet in the future.

I decided today to try riding a bus into the city, since there's one that stops about a block from my house, and I want to start learning the bus system, since I have the train and underground pretty well down.

The bus in question is the Most Unreliable Bus in London that I was referring to earlier. One is supposed to come by every 12 minutes on Sundays. As I was waiting, I saw four in a row go by in the other direction. One finally arrived after I had been waiting for over 45. Of course. "Once every 12 minutes" is obviously an average. You wait fifty minutes, and then four buses come, right? Right.

Anyway, I guess they're more reliable in the city, so I think I'll wait until I actually have an opportunity to move out of Gipsy Sodding Hill.

Hm.

In other news, one of my sisters is in the hospital. She is trying to outdo herself in the "Always sick over the holidays" department. I'm serious, Leslie is sick every time a holiday arrives. I think it's because she works herself so hard all of the time, that when she takes time off, her body says, "Whew! Time to break down and recuperate!" and it all falls to heck.

Anyway, they're trying to figure out whether to do kidney surgery in Spokane, where she's visiting my other sister, or whether to wait until she gets back to Boston. I say she should check out the hospital cafeteria menus, and base her decision on that. Who cares what the doctors have to say about it?

I actually think I'm too tired and out of it to type much today, so I'm going to sign off now.

Cheers.