Fueling Up

Needed a little something to get my brain going.  What better than to write emo poetry in Anglo Saxon?

Ic limgesið gierman gehwilc andhangne niht þu þaccian ingemynde

þu éages léoht neoðane

þu liðe héafodwóð ábifian giefend

Ic áswerian, galdorcwide

ac gelegered nú gén

þu æsceda ætgeændung gamen

The grammar is horrid as it has been a few years and I don't have my notebook so I'm going off my rubbish memory and translating from a terrible source anyway (my own crappy writing).  Somehow, writing it like this makes me feel less like a teenage Hot Topic loving loser.... in reality, this is probably much much worse...

Right... Catch Up

Well, nothing happened, nothing happened, nothing happened, I got internet and here I am. Okay it was a little more complicated than that, but I mostly feel like recapping my everyday's activities is a completely masturbatory practice. Not far behind that is recording my thoughts on various things in my life but, as I think I have stated before, my use of the word 'masturbatory' illudes to the fact that it is somewhat pleasurable (if only to me), so I will do it anyway. Besides, it is something I can do to keep my brain functioning long enough to watch that last 24 minutes of 'House' that Megavideo cuts you off of when you watch more than one episode.

Lately, I have been questioning my education. Not the general merits of it, but more my own investment in it. This isn't the first time I have wondered why I have always been so bent to have pretty upper-case letters follow my name. Usually, I am the one to call people out on this sort of thing and I have recently discovered that I hate hypocrisy beyond all else (including cockroaches, anything with limbs in multiples of 8, and the way Jello feels going down your esophagus), so... uh... self? What are we trying to prove?

I meet people every day who just decided to travel the world, something I have always wanted to do and something I had grown convinced was only possible if I achieved a good education. I meet people my own age, hell, people younger than me who have seen so much, who have made real mistakes and still recovered. I feel like I took the safe route... I went to uni, studied things that made me happy but will ultimately do me little to no good in the 'work place' and got to travel with the safety blanket of a masters program... built in friends, built in lifestyle, built in loan that I will never be able to pay back...

Now I am caught. Wanting to see the world, knowing that while Sallie Mae can find me anywhere, I can't pay Her back without a steady income and possibly *gasp* a grown-up job. I am twenty five with a masters degree and no real idea of what to do next except panic because the bills are about to start rolling in and I'm still struggling to pay off our council tax.

Maybe I never would have gotten here without my education. I might have been one of the many who never left Scappoose; preferring the familiar comfort of my small town to the possible failures of the outside world. So, the real merit of a university education for a creature of habit like me is to knock you on your ass a few times until you figure out how to cauterize your own wounds (while still having paramedics at hand so you aren't so afraid).

So I'm a slow learner. Now to play catch up...

Treading the Water...

Seriously, you would think I would learn.

How many times do I have to jump into the middle of an artistic ocean without a lifejacket before I realize just how terrible of an idea this is?

Then again, I read somewhere that sharks are more likely to attack a person floating with a life jacket than those wildly flailing about on their own...

meh.

sleep is for the weak.

Exactly

English Men

Actually, the fact that I am wanting to write about the damn things says it all.

Aw

This is my first full day home in Oregon. I visited Wal-Mart to purchase the new South Park set and while driving home some redneck in a truck passed me with its passenger doing the licking vag motion. I flipped him off. My little brother suggested that I follow him until he stops somewhere, get out and say 'so you would like to suck my pussy?' and kick him in the junk.

They grow up so fast.

Take Me Home... Country Roads?

I try not to just post diary pages here, and I swear this day-recap has a point at the end.

First, though, I need to bitch for a second.

The day started out fine. I didn't want to get out of bed because I knew I had a long day ahead, but, heyho, you live. Once out of bed, life was pretty smooth.

Until I left my flat. Isn't that always the case? I sometimes wish I could be a homebody. Nothing bad happens when I stay in bed. It is a happy place. (and, yes, you can take that however you want. and, yes, that is what she said. and, yes, I went there. It is 3 am)

Surprise, surprise, the tube was delayed. No big except for the freaky hairy fat man who had his armpit in my face for most of the ride between King's Cross and Heathrow. Lucky for me, I have very little sense of smell.

At check in, my bag was overweight. Bah. So, in front of everyone, open up suitcase and tear things out to stuff in my purse and laptop bag. Lesson learned: always pack your undies on the bottom of your suitcase.

Onward to security. Which I set off. And after the lady gave me a rather invasive pat down and still couldn't determine why I set off the thing, I was escorted to a little room where I was instructed to remove my clothing. How sweet of them, they didn't watch while I undressed. I think the lady just wanted a chance to see my boobs. I can't blame her, but I really would have happily just flashed her and saved myself the half an hour and humiliation of being strip searched.

Continuing to the gate, things look like they will be uneventful. 9 hours to Chicago then two hours of chill time then another 4 to PDX where my family waits to take me to my beloved Taco Bell.

Wait... what is this? Delay?? How long??? Oh, an hour. I can live with that.

Tick....Tick....Tick....

What do you mean it will be another hour? I have a connecting flight to get on! Well, I guess we will be okay if we don't take off for another hour. It will be tight, but there are worse things in the world than running through airports (like being strip searched, for instance).

Tick... Tick... Tick...

Well, there go my connecting flight hopes. Oh well, they have to pay for it. OH! They are going to let us board the plane!

Things seem to be fine at this point. I get to my seat, the lady sitting next to me is a cool high school English teacher who wants to talk about Frankenstein with me. Rad.

I watch Monsters vs. Aliens. I don't suggest it unless you are delirious. After that I watch a bit of Desperate Housewives (why do so many people watch that trash?) to pass the time before the next session of the abomination Watchmen is to start and the plane hits a little turbulence. Suddenly the captain interrupts my judgment.

We are turning around.

Something about an auxiliary power thingy and them not wanting to continue over the ocean without it.

So, we get back to London, which looks amazing at night from air, stuffed into busses and taken to a rather swank hotel where i am supposed to sleep and wait to find out what they are doing with us in the morning.

Right. Well, now that I have my growling at my day done - here is my 'point.'

All this time has allowed a little spark of thinking. Not much, cause I really don't have the brain power, but something that I might expand on later.

Maybe this is where I belong. I mean, I have always wanted somewhere I feel like I fit. And I think I do here. I love the country roads of home, but I miss Finchley Road more.

Our take off was set to Oasis 'Slide Away' and it was just so beautiful. The sun was setting over London and I just felt this torn feeling in my chest. I miss my family and my friends from home. I can't wait to get back to Oregon and hug my little brother, see mountains, eat Tillamook cheese, get tackled by my best friend... But my heart is here.

I have been stolen, Oregon. I hope you understand.