Josh Hartnett makes the days go faster, oh and I wrote an essay:
Filled with unproductiveness and a desire to conserve cash, I found myself listing amidst my few belongings, pondering what entertaining projects I could divise today. I found myself watching the last twenty minutes of Pearl Harbor-- I managed to make the movie last three whole days, despite skipping all the parts I dislike (and that would be most scenes with Ben Affleck, and therefore most of the first disc, for those who are curious).
I call that sort of productivity "working on my thesis", and in a small way, I am. I took notes anyway, even if they're in my head, and refreshed myself enough about the film that I could conceivably write on it now. I also worked extensively on the final paper I submitted for my Pacific Wars class, which some of you may know I was asked to publish. I have no idea what they (meaning the publishers) want from it though- I only know at the moment it is too long, and so I must cut it a bit.
Finally...oh, fantastic recreational reading! I've drifted away from it since I began at University- mostly because I avoid reading for my classes, and so when I read other things I feel guilty. But now I have time for both, especially as I've only one textbook here, and so I've spent the entire weekend reading that fabulous Ames book I mentioned a few days ago, and Michael Crichton. Blessed, blessed free time!
I'm a little worried about my writing abilities, though. I seem to have a harder time discerning a topic each day I update my journal. I've resorted to describing sandwhich containers and oddball colors of clothing...that's just not healthy. Or perhaps this is a life-altering, style defining period of my life. Redundancy, doh! But I shall leave it. Anyway, perhaps Edinburgh, with its walls and psychotic weather, is the Cuba to my Hemmingway, the highway to my Kerouac, the wooded path to my Frost. Everyone, whether caution or congratulatory in nature, stated that this experience would profoundly change and shape who I shall be when I return. I can't help but hope, in all the foolish, ignorant pride, that perhaps it will inspire the spark of greatness that my goals seem to lack. Perhaps here I shall find the edge and voice and authenticity which lacks in my work. Or, maybe, I'll finally be old enough the publishers will stop blowing me off.
I have this sneaking suspicion that people are lying about reading this silly blog, too. Mostly because the email I receive consists of, "So...how's life? What did you do today? Do you have internet yet?" All of which are easily answered by the fact that I'm not online 24/7 (I know, I'm in a support group to help me through it). But mostly, people keep asking me, "So how are you enjoying London? Did you make it to (fill in obvious London attraction here)?" Well folks who aren't reading the Blog and so won't see this response but I'm putting it in anyway: I'm not in London anymore! I'm in Edinburgh! And I did see all the touristy sights of London, even if from the outside and free sector only, and yes, I had a marvelous time! Thank you!
Ok I'm done with that, I shan't address it again. To you, my faithful readers, (especially mom and Jeff, since you two always always ALWAYS have nice things to say to me about my silly hobby) thank you for your patience with my temper. I won't let it happen again, I hope.
I'm going to venture to the post office tomorrow, and post all the letters and cards I've written when I'm bored. Maybe they'll even beat me back to the states! Doubtful, but maybe. I'm also going Jacket hunting. My lovely winter coat, which is actually Jeff's wonderful winter coat, is warm and water repellant, and bright bright bright. I look like the police officers. And my hooded sweatshirt, while fabulously college-esque, just doesn't cut it for going out. So I'm off to find something inexpensive, warm, and black. Wish me luck!
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