Fixing My Brain

I feel very lucky that my first design client is my boyfriend's company, and that he is my direct contact. He's an excellent art director and gives really helpful feedback. He also has somehow tricked everyone else in the company into taking me seriously as a designer, and it's the first time I've ever felt my professional design opinions matter to anyone, at all, even a little.

Every day he helps to heal the damage CSM did to my brain, in ways he doesn't even know.

Thank you, lover.

Come and Gone Again

It's an odd feeling having your significant other with you for a week at a time, every few months. This long distance relationship stuff isn't fun. It's gotten easier, for sure. One and a half years later and I've become accustomed to being alone. I even enjoy it. In fact you could say I need alone time now, and I rely heavily upon movies to fill those evenings when I just want to recharge my batteries.

The boy came a week ago, and left this morning. Since I moved to London, his visits have been highly anticipated, and his departures dreaded. But today- for the first time- I didn't cry when he left. I napped and watched Dr Who instead.

I always stay up late the first night I'm alone. I readjust by avoiding my bedroom and any remnants of him being here- like the fact that there are two water glasses on my bedside table instead of one. And the one sock he forgot to take home. Or the receipt for the dinner we had a few days ago.

It's so weird, this cross-Atlantic romance of mine.

On Matters of the Heart and Hair

Open relationships ares a lot like hairstyles.

What you were born and raised with might not be what suits you best. Against the wishes of the people in charge, you cut or dye it. You change the colour and you change the shape. Sometimes it looks fantastic, and sometimes you have to wear a hat.

Perhaps you experiment a little too much and find you have destroyed you hair. And maybe you cut it all off so you can start fresh. But it is still your hair, and it grows back and looks plain but familiar. Only when it has reached a suitable length can you fiddle around with it again.

If you experiment enough, you will find the perfect red dye and the perfect bob. You'll change it slightly every now and then to keep it interesting, but you'll begin to define yourself by the new hairstyle. And slowly- very, very slowly- you find that the mousy brown you were born with is beginning to seem ill-suited to your personality.

There is a catch though. Once you've found the perfect colour and cut, you have upkeep to deal with. This look isn't what comes naturally to you. If you don't maintain the red dye and cute bob, the vibrancy fades, the haircut becomes shaggy, and it never seems to look good anymore. Red hair and fringe take a lot a maintenance.

I still don't think my hairstyle suits me. There are days when I want to rip my hair out, and bang my head against a wall. There are days when I have done exactly that. In fact most of this past week I have been doing that. But I am still in search of that elusive red dye, and that indefinably perfect hairstyle.

My hope is that when I find the look that suits me, I will gain confidence in knowing that it is all good, and it is all safe.

Big Girls Don't Cry

I have so much to write that it will have to wait until tomorrow. But for now, let me just make a note about one thing that matters to no one but myself. The Boy flew home to San Francisco this morning, and to my surprise I found that having built up some semblance of a life in London made his departure much easier to handle than his previous visits.

The last time he visited, I was angry at him for most of the week he was here (for no good reason) and spent the last three nights crying on his shoulder, worrying about how he was leaving and I would have to go back to my dorm room and my empty depressing life without him.

This time everything was different. And it was so much better.

And now, I'm going to attempt to make my bed seem less empty and go to sleep. More info on my last two weeks will be forthcoming.

24

It's a little after midnight and being that it is now September 2nd, I am officially a year older.

I think I'm finally an adult because for the first time in my life I have no plans, no party, no nothing. My big birthday plans include picking up a used bike, and cleaning my kitchen. I will be eagerly ripping open a box that has been sitting on my desk though. The boy sent me something and I am dying to see what it is.

I guess I'm a little melancholy tonight. I've never spent a birthday alone before. So when I saw this photo The Boy took of me at our friend's place in SF this past spring, I saw it as a moment of indecision and aprehension captured on film. It seemed to fit my mood just now.

Happy Birthday, Me.

Love + Distance + Confusion = Shitty Shitty Situations

The boy and I are both ridiculously busy and so I am not going to get to see him this term.

After term ends I need to stay in London for a while because I have to see what happens with moving on to 2nd year and my potential internship and all that stuff. I don't think the school will tell me about my position there until late June or early July, and I believe I have to be present at a meeting at that time.

Whatever the outcome of that meeting, I have to then sit down and decide what I'm going to do next. Here is where the situation gets shitty. If school does in fact want me gone, then I have to make my own way in the fashion world. At some point I would like to go back to San Francisco, but I think that when I am starting out it would be wise to stay in London where there are far more opportunities to do that.

But that means that I am now choosing my career over my boyfriend. And I can no longer point to school and say, "I have to stay here because of that." If I have to leave school then I must make the decision every single day to stay in London and not be with my boyfriend, because there won't be anything but my own choices keeping me away from him. And that's a shitty thing to have to deal with.

Every single time I have to decide something about my life in London, I am going to be having to decide between whatever my options are here, and my boyfriend. Good opportunities will feel like heartbreak. And how shitty would it be to feel that all the good things that happen to me are bad for my relationship?

My boyfriend thinks I should stay here and sort things out. But he is a much stronger person I am. He can't move here with me, and so I have to choose to be here alone but focused on my future, or with him in San Francisco. If I want to be in fashion and make my own way, I need to be somewhere where I can get opportunities. And there are far more of those available to me here in London.

On the other hand, maybe staying here is just plain stupid. Maybe it's just my ego talking. Maybe it's simply that I don't want to go home and admit defeat by CSM. Maybe I should just give this up and go back to SF. But if I did that, I probably wouldn't ever have the sort of chances I'd have here. And I don't know if I would ever forgive myself for giving up so fast.

Fuck, this is so confusing.

He Came, He Saw, He Went Home. Or: I Am Ready For A Break

The Boy came to visit me for a weekend. It was all the time he could spare, and his timing was excellent, since this was the first weekend I've had free since... well.... god, since this term began. (Point of interest: I looked back and realized that except for an occasional evening where I was too exhausted to work anymore, I have not had a day off from my rather extreme homework situation since early February.)

So The Boy came to visit.

And it was good.

I haven't seen him in such a long time, and we have had some extreme highs and extreme lows in the last six weeks that we needed to deal with in person. I've processed every emotion I can possible think of in that time, from contemplating marriage to contemplating murder. But he is not moldering in a ditch somewhere, and there is no hideous square cut monstrosity on my left hand, so we worked things out in a satisfactory manner it seems.

Mostly we spent our two and a half days talking those problems through, wandering around London hand in hand, snuggling on my TINY bed and in dark bars, and having incredible sex at every opportunity.

But now he is on a big jet plane heading back to San Francisco, and I am unsuccessfully willing this cup of coffee to inspire my new design project.

I have purchased my tickets to go home over my break. But instead of spending my entire vacation in SF, The Boy and I are going to fly back to London together for a week of fun before I start classes again. I think it will be a nice transition from vacation in SF to vacation in London, with my favorite person at my side.

In other news, school has been hellish. I nearly broke down into tears twice in two days last week. And if you know me at all you know that it takes a LOT of stress and an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness before I get that close to crying in public. I get angry, I get sardonic, I get mean, I get furious... But to feel so powerless and scared that I could barely hold back tears? That's impressive.

I cannot stress how ready I am for this term to be over. Over over over. And then some Over with a side order of Completed garnished with a sprinkling of Done.

Care Package

A package from SF was waiting for me when I arrived home this afternoon.

Care Package II from The Boy!

This one contained more delicious bacon chocolate, two comics I wanted to read, Ginger Chews (from Trader Joes, yum!), a San Francisco mini license plate, and a compass that will always tell me which SF neighborhood I'd be facing if I were there.

Best of all, he sent me a mix tape- not an actual tape because um, there is no cassette drive in my laptop... see, he sent a mini usb drive with an mp3 set list nestled into a cute little tape-shaped box! I can't wait to listen to it. I'm waiting for a moment when I can just relax and enjoy the music he carefully chose for me.

It makes my heart swell.

Sick

Party at my flat last night- TOTAL DISASTER.

Well it was for me at least, as I spent the whole evening throwing up and sobbing into a towel for no real reason.

I've never been drunk enough to throw up or not remember things. And I didn't have too much to drink, either. I guess something just didn't agree with me.

After my VERY caring room mates sat with me and rubbed my back while I threw up the entire contents of my body (I swear, if I vomited up a lung or my spleen I wouldn't be surprised) they managed to put me to bed. I woke at 6am and thought I was at my boyfriend's house for some reason. I turned expecting him to be there to hold me and warm me up, and felt my heart sink into my stomach when I realized where I was.

Got up, had some tea, sat around in the messy party remains in the kitchen eating slices of cheese and toast until I got too cold and crawled into bed again. Walking back into my room, I could survey the damage: apparently my sink decided to start leaking in a serious way, the shelving in my shower decided to fall, and my room was a giant mess of my clothes which I had managed to take off piece by piece over night. Either my entire flat smells slightly of the acidic contents of my stomach, or my nose has been burned by the acid and it's all I can taste and smell.

Everything is a mess and I just want last night to have not happened. I am so embarrassed I don't want to face anyone today. Even though I am not hung over, the whole evening made me feel really vulnerable and lonely.

*Blushing*

Every year Valentine's Day approaches and I think "psh, lame hallmark holiday that means nothing to me." And every year my boyfriend, always the romantic, sends me flowers even though I tell him not to.

Being that I am half way around the globe from him this year, the last thing I expected was a dozen red roses delivered to my flat this morning.

It made me blush. heehee :) I guess I should just admit that I love them, and that I smile every time I see them.

Now I just have to buy a vase.... ;)

Quick

A very quick update, as I am exhausted and busy:

I have the Congratulations-You-Failed-and-Now-Have-Twice-the-Work project half way done. It is due Friday morning. On top of that we have started our new project. Very stressed for time. However, it is a team project and I was paired up with one of my favorite people in the class. I feel very lucky. But first, I must magically finish this project for Friday. Eep!

No word on my grade for the shirt project yet. DYING to know what mark I earned.

My relationship with The Boy is undergoing some significant changes right now. And they are insightful, challenging, sad, happy, and confusing. More on that later.

I need a massage. All this stress, and hunching over my sewing makes me feel like I should be ringing the bells of Notre Dame or something. Like Spiderman said... "I hunch."

My flatmates have organized an "un-valentines" party for Saturday evening. Could be hilarious, could be fun. If nothing else, as the only person at the party who can hold their drink, it will be amusing watching my friends get drunk and play Twister in the kitchen.

And with that, I bid you good night. I hope to have the time to posts something more in depth in the next few days.

Assumptions, part 2: On Boys

Boys have always been a bit tricky for me to be around. A psychiatrist would probably tell you that I grew up with no positive male role models and therefor have issues with the opposite sex. But if you ask me, I'd say that my issues with boys started in high school when I suddenly dropped 25lbs and began looking like a normal curvy girl.

To change from the fat girl quite suddenly into a 16 year old sex object is quite a mind fuck. For the first time men began to notice me and I quickly learned that I had a lot of power because of it. In response to this sudden outpouring of attention I became the world's biggest flirt. It was the only way I could both entice men and keep them at a safe emotional distance.

To this day I find it hard to speak to any guy without flirting. It is my default reaction to male attention, even the unwanted kind. In a way having a boyfriend has exacerbated this problem because I could flirt mercilessly and never feel the pressure to follow through. "I have a boyfriend," I could always say. My boyfriend knows I am a flirt and has no lame macho jealousy issues. If anything, he enjoys that I could make a few boys lust after the girl he gets to take home every night.

But everything is different in London. I don't have a boyfriend here to use as my excuse. I don't have someone to go stand next to who will kiss my neck and remind everyone that this one belongs to him. And so I have found that my social habits have been changing out of necessity.

First of all, I never go out. I am terrified of finding myself in an awkward situation with a guy and not knowing how to get out of it. That fear has lessened some. But I think my change in attitude really began when I met a friend whose boyfriend is such a great guy that I felt immediately at ease with him. I guess I never before realized that I could talk with a guy without our conversation ever having a flirtatious subtext. Inspired by this experience, I am trying very hard to understand how to separate flirting from talking when it comes to men. And I think I'm getting better at it.

Either that or I am just becoming very antisocial...

Room Mates to the Rescue

It's funny how you find friends in the least expected places. The room mate I thought I would get along with best has turned out to be very illusive and rarely home and the room mates I thought I would not get along with at all have become the people I am most comfortable with.

We are all very different people. They are not normally the type of person I would pick out to be my friends. Really, we have almost nothing in common. But when I flew back to London, one of those room mates met me at Paddington station to help me manage my suitcases back to the flat. They fed me and hugged me when I spent the whole evening in body-shaking sobs over leaving my boyfriend behind.

On my first night back, terrified of being alone, I fell asleep in a room mate's room watching a movie. I crawled back into my own room later that night, only to wake at 3am missing my boyfriend with every part of my being. I felt like my heart was breaking, and I was terrified of being alone. I broke out into tears, miserable and feeling completely and utterly lost. But it so happened that one of my room mates was awake, heard me crying, and despite being the most sarcastic and distant girl in the flat, made me tea and listened to me for an hour. She then invited me into her room (she is very private usually) and put on some stupid TV show, knowing it was stupidly dramatic enough to distract me from my real drama.

At 6am I crawled back into bed and fell asleep again. I woke up feeling exhausted but much better. I felt like I had gone to the flat mates at my worst and they had offered hugs and sympathy when I needed it most. I am usually very hesitant about sharing my real feelings with people, but I braved it because I couldn't bear the thought of feeling so alone.

This morning we all woke up and made pancakes and bacon for breakfast. Yesterday they took me swimming. We have watched all three Pirates of the Caribbean movies and eaten home made chocolate mousse. Between loaning me electric blankets, helping me unpack, and making sure I eat, they have all taken very good care of me. And now we are going to a jewelry exhibition to see if we can get inspired for our various homework projects.

As much as I hated coming back here and leaving my boyfriend in San Francisco, I am so so so very glad I live with kind hearted people.

Social

I've spent the last few days with very cool people. Two days ago I spent the whole day playing Rock Band with friends in a beautiful 1890's San Francisco house. The day before I flipped through sketchbooks and watched muted porn while discussing the frivolous side of life at my favorite comic artist's house. The day before that had dinner with my parents and my boyfriend and successfully mined my mother's box of photos for the most horrible baby photos of me ever taken.

Yesterday I spent the day with the only kid that's ever made me consider parenthood and today we're going ice skating, and then fake moustache shopping for a friend's New Years party. (Fake lashes- top and bottom, moustache, tie....)

The only thing I haven't done is homework....

Home

It's the strangest thing to be vacationing at a place that was your home three months ago. How do you pack to go home when the home you're visiting is no longer where you live?

My dorm room is not the most comfortable place in the world but it's where I spend my nights, mornings, and some weekends. I have made it as comfy as possible, and shipped myself my favorite throw blanket and my favorite books so that it would feel more like my home.

But now I just left all those symbols of homey comfort to come back "home". It's odd when I really think about it; when I realize that my home isn't in either city right now.

I even had to buy a UK to US adapter plug, which was a bit trippy. Seems backwards.

The flight over wasn't so bad. It was a flight full of crying babies, but headphones and in-flight movies drowned them out. Before I flew, I bought myself a slight upgrade to Economy Plus, which gave this rather tall American Redhead about six extra inches of legroom. The flight went pretty quickly, really- I got through check in and security in Heathrow in about 20 minutes. The whole thing would have gone off without a hitch had I not gotten mild food poisoning from the airplane food, and spent six of the ten hours in flight trying not to throw up.

But fate is kind to me, and I happened to be seated next to a very sweet Swedish nurse who for some reason had a stomach-healing pill in her bag. By the time we landed, I was no longer telling myself to breathe through my nose and craving salty crackers. She was a life saver. Thank you Swedish Nurse Lady!

I am actually pretty proud of myself because although I have traveled before, I've always traveled with the help of someone else. Either someone was consulted in my packing, or did the online check in for me, or dropped me off at the airport. This time I had to do the whole thing myself. And I did it! I always find myself getting very nervous before I fly, because all the preparations leading up to the flying are kind of a mystery to me. But now I am fine.

It's a bit strange being home. I am sitting on my boyfriend's bed while he's at work today. I have spent a lot of time here, and I am very comfortable in his house. Old routines are so easy to fall back into, you know? I know where things are, my body remembers the way I always sit in his car, I remember how everything works. I have history here. I haven't had any in London yet, so everything feels kinda of new, still.

It's also nice to have someone take care of me sometimes. Someone ELSE to make dinner every now and then, or to pick me up when it's freezing and rainy. I have come to love being on my own in London, actually. I love that my schedule is entirely up to me, that I am not beholden to anyone else. I've embraced that independence as much as I can, on a budget. ;) But god, it is so nice to come back and know that every night there is a comfortable bed with a hot boy in it waiting for me. It's wonderful to know that I have many years of history with friends here, and that they all want to see me so badly that they've been emailing me for the last two weeks, asking if I was home yet. It's nice to have others involved in my life, making demands on my time. The only thing I have that demands my time back in London is school (and it makes some SERIOUS demands, let me tell you...)

It is sunny out today. I haven't seen the sun in over a week. It feels amazing. And novel. I can go outside without layers of clothing under a sweater, under a jacket with a hat, a scarf, and gloves. It feels weird, but good, to be home. "Home".

Ten

I fly home in ten days! So excited to see the boy!!!

Also, I bought three vintage dresses today, and a VERY short denim skirt. I intend to look smashing when I visit all my friends- otherwise how can I be pretentious and pompous about living in London now?

What's a Girl Gotta Do To Get Some Instruction Around Here?

I knew that moving to a new country along was going to be hard. I knew that the fashion program at St. Martins was incredibly difficult. I knew that I would be lonely, that the weather would be crappy, that I would be a broke student who would have to choose between food and art supplies. But I've run into so many difficult things that I never could have anticipated. It's all of those things that add up when I'm not looking.

I had a complete meltdown the night before last. I swore I was going to leave school and move home. I believed myself as I said it, and I said it a lot. I said to to a classmate. I said it to my boyfriend. I said it to all my room mates, one by one, and then again as a group over dinner. I told them that CSM could go to hell, and that I had known from the moment I was accepted into this school that it was the wrong decision. I kept on saying it until I passed out curled up on my bed. I wanted to wake up back home and pretend this whole mess never happened, because I was so furious at my school and my tutors.

Before I continue, let me explain something that I just figured out myself. Here at St. Martins there is no equivalent to what an American school might call "a teacher". We don't have classes either, instead our schedule is project-based. On some days of the week, we have a tutor in to meet with us individually. Our tutors are the head of our program, and they are not there to teach us, but to offer guidance and critiques on the conceptual/design level. They also grade us. On certain days of the week we also have technicians in. Apparently technicians are either there to assist us with sewing/drafting/making difficult things, or to (get this...)do it for us, if it's too difficult. Yes, you read that right. Technicians are there to help us sew things that we don't know how to sew. Because CSM isn't training seamstresses, they are training designers... That's a mindfuck for me. (At my last school if they found out that another student, much less a hired professional was helping you do your homework, you failed the project.)

So we have Tutors and we have Technicians, but the gap in between that in my experience should be filled by a Teacher is left empty. Instead, St. Martins is all about making the students teach themselves through trial and error.

Ah, the dreaded trial and error...

There seems to be a certain artistic disposition that lends itself to creative experimenting. These are the kinds of people that couldn't think inside the box if they tried. They will try anything to get the look they want, no matter how strange or silly it may sound. These are often the people who make it in a business that is always looking for the next innovative thing. These are the sorts of people that end up at CSM.

I am not one of those people.

I am an idea person. I have no patience for the actual construction of a garment. I hate sewing (I have been known to fall into fits of rage while trying to sew) and I despise the problem-solving aspects of pattern drafting. I understand how these things work, and I am very good at helping others find solutions to the problems in their work. But when it comes to my own work, I have no patience for the process.

Maybe I'm just lazy...?

So to clarify, I am a person who designs, understands how to construct and make the design, but needs help making it, or have someone to make it for me. Because when I run into a problem I cannot solve I am not the kind of person to experiment over and over until I find the solution. When I hit a wall, I call in a specialist (read: a teacher) to help me break down the wall.

And this is where all the trouble started the day I nearly got into a fight with my tutor.

At our last meeting, my tutor had suggested that I try a brand new technique to make my design. Excited at the suggestion I immediately went out and found five different books at the library on the topic. Over the weekend I browsed the books, bought supplies, did a series of tests and experiments, and felt confident that I could make this crazy idea happen. All I needed was some help coming up with a way to work around one problem I couldn't solve.

I went into the classroom that day with some very specific questions. I wasn't entirely sure where to begin with this project. I asked the pattern drafting technician for some advice, and that is when the trouble began. Her answer was, "I don't know. I've never done this before."

I couldn't accept that solution so I reworded my question to be more specific. She told me that she had no idea and that I should go buy supplies to experiment with.

Frustrated but determined, I spent the next three hours running around the city blowing my food budget on supplies. When I came back to school and began working I was optimistic. But each technique I tried was failing and I wasn't sure how to proceed, and every time I asked someone for help I was given nothing but suggestions on ways to spend more money on things that may or may not work.

All I wanted was some god damn help from a teacher. I had done all the research and work to teach myself how to do something new, and now I wanted some educational support from the institution that I pay huge sums of money to. But no!

Through this ordeal what I discovered is that at CSM, they do not teach you anything. No, at CSM they assist you in discovering things on your own.

So I stormed out of the classroom feeling as though I had just moved halfway around the world to attend a school where they do not teach us anything. And now that I have finally made a pathetic excuse of a home for myself, I was going to have to pack up my whole life AGAIN and move back home to finish a degree at a pathetic technical school.

I was so furious and miserable that day. I needed to talk to someone who would understand where I was coming from- someone who wouldn't try to solve the problem for me, but sympathize about how much effort it takes to just LIVE sometimes when you've just moved to another country. I wanted someone to agree that the whole CSM system was shit and that I had left everything to come here for no good reason. I wanted someone to agree with me, and to come fly out here to help me move home. Or maybe I wanted someone to just fly out here to give me a hug and let me cry on their shoulder for a little while. I just needed a friend. But I don't know anyone in London well enough to show them this raw, exposed side of me.

I wanted to call my best friend back home, but it was the wee hours of the morning. I don't have an international calling plan on my new phone yet, and I haven't been able to talk to her since I moved. I didn't want the first conversation we had to involve waking her middle of the night to cry in her ear. So I texted my boyfriend, who listened to me bitch and cry and swear that I was moving home for hours, until he decided I'd indulged in enough of a pity party to need a verbal slap upside the head.

I wish I could say that he shook me out of it, but he didn't. Instead I curled up on my bed and hugged my knees, sobbing until I passed out. I woke up an hour later shaking from the cold and crawled under the quilt, feeling ashamed of myself and miserable.

Needless to say, not my best day.

But I did learn something about how I have to approach my education here. I realize now that if I am this stressed about a single project, I need to rethink my approach even if it means I fail again. I decided to scrap everything my tutor suggested and do something entirely different, whether or not he likes it.

As a result of this decision my mood has been much more upbeat. I am incredibly stressed for time as I am starting over on a project most people began a week before, but I feel better about what I am trying to do. I am experimenting with fabric and trying to teach myself some new things.

And as a sort of penance for being such an emotional mess the day before, I went into school and spent a lot of time helping many of my classmates with their patterns. As one of the only students in the class with any drafting experience, word has spread that I can offer some sort of advice. It made me feel better to know that although I am struggling to keep it together, I do know something about fashion.

More than that I realized that I love to teach. My classmates suggested that I look into being a class helper for first year students for pay. I would love to do that, if I could. It's so satisfying to work with someone and solve a problem. Although I do not know the conventional way to do things, CSM shares my opinion on pattern drafting: if it fits, and it looks the way you want it, it is correct and bugger the rules.

So teaching is good. But I've found that what I like best about it is working with another designer to make something. Which made me think that I would like to try my next project as a team project. I plan to find a partner to design with before informing our tutor that we are a design team for this round of the game. That sounds like a recipe for success, in my opinion.

So CSM and life in London is turning out to be a lot more difficult than I expected, in ways I couldn't have anticipated. It takes so much out of me just to stay afloat that I feel very brittle of late. But I am trying to stay optimistic. I've spoken with a counselor at school about my concerns, and she informed that almost every international student at CSM starts to feel this doubt and depression at the three to five month mark. She also assured me that it will get better.

It will get better.

I was worried that going home for the Christmas holiday would make coming back to London harder. But now I cannot wait to go home and I wish I could change my flight to go back next weekend instead of the 16th. I am hoping that being with my friends and boyfriend and family will recharge my batteries for my next round in the ring against CSM.

I just have to keep reminding myself that it will get better.

And Once Again, I Am Not Okay

I hate to admit it, but I am having a really tough time with the long distance relationship again. I thought that I pretty much had a handle on it after The Boy left London and went back home, but it seems I am falling apart yet again. The little congratulations I was giving myself for finally being a more independent woman were a little prematurely given, I think.

I hate being in a long distance relationship. I love my boyfriend, but I am not built for this kind of situation. It is fucking with my head and my heart every second I let my guard down. In order to survive it I must keep myself tightly wound up and securely locked down, carefully avoiding anything that will remind me of the life I don't get to have with him.

Burying feelings is not a good way to deal with anything, especially something as explosive as this, so I have to be very careful to not put myself in a situation that would loosen me up. One glass of wine and I am online begging my boyfriend to move here, and considering dropping out of school to go home to him. It's pathetic, but it's my reality at the moment. Despite all my efforts I haven't found a way to make the sadness of missing the person I love into romantic melancholy.

The last few days have really brought all these feelings to the surface again because I expected to be socially busy this weekend. Three times I got dressed up to meet classmates for some work and fun and three times I got stood up. (They had good reasons, and I am not mad at any of them.) So instead of having a nice time developing new friendships, I once again found myself alone in public, with nothing to do but hunch over my sketchbook and order another coffee so as to appear that I had intended to be alone all along.

See, I have no friends yet. I have a boyfriend thousands of miles away, eight hours behind me, who I cannot see or touch, or go to when I need comfort. I am trying to fill the spaces left by all the people I care about, but I've had no luck. Each day I socialize in class, but have never found myself invited out to any of the events I hear about later.

When I am in class I feel a huge sense of relief because I am around people I like who seem to like me too. I am not hiding my sadness, I am actually pretty happy when I am at school. But I must be keeping myself isolated from all the people in some way, because I am not being invited into their social lives.

I love London and school is keeping me very busy. But I am slowly sinking into depression. I'm not exercising, I'm eating like crap, I stay at home alone, awake all night and when I do sleep I don't sleep well. I'm desperate for friends, someone I can talk to. My best friend back home hasn't been able to talk with me since I moved, and she has always been my companion in my most difficult times. I am so utterly alone, in a city full of people, full of life. I've never felt lonelier than my time in London.

So yeah, things are fine. I'm fine, everything's fine. School is fine, life is fine. Everything is just fine. I'm not dying, I still have all my limbs, the world isn't ending. But I'm not happy, and I don't know what to do. I can't move home and leave my career behind for a boy. But I can't live like this much longer.

I can't deal with being alone every day anymore.

Catching Up: Boyfriend Visit

The Boy came to visit me on Monday and left this morning. We had a very full week of activities around the city while I played the role of utterly unprepared fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants tourguide girlfriend.

We went to the British Museum and looked at the mummies (did you know the Egyptians even mummified fish?) and went to Burough Market to buy delicious Turkish Delight. We walked along the south bank and rode on the London Eye. We walked a Jack the Ripper tour around my neighborhood (I know so many distressing facts about Spitalfields and The City now) and tried lots of yummy Indian food along Brick Lane. I showed him the Splendor that is Top Shop, and we wandered all around Soho in the rain. I took him to Forbidden Planet, and I took him to Camden. We saw Quantum of Solace (which isn't out in the US yet) and had salt beef bagels on Brick Lane. He found some super cool clothes, and bought me some awesome boots. We went to the Francis Bacon exhibit (which was AMAZING and has inspired me on two different projects for uni) and he saw Big Ben and Parliament and Westminster Abbey. We had disappointing fish and chips, many gin and tonics, delicious burgers, and lots of Indian sweets.

We slept in and snuggled whenever the morning schedule permitted it and we walked around holding hands, especially when it was cold and neither of us had gloves. And there was sex. Thank god almighty there was sex. Fucking hell, there was sex. Thank you, jesus. I owe you one.

So all in all, I would say it was a very busy and very good week. It was funny, though. I am so used to our life in a San Francisco context, that seeing him here made me fall back into old patterns. I kept catching myself expecting to go back to his place, or thinking it was garbage day at my old apartment. It was very easy to forget that I was in London now, and living the lonely, poor, and cold student life. I felt a little on edge the whole time my boyfriend was here because I was never quite sure where I was.

But one very important thing happened when it came time for him to leave. I was okay. There were a few tears but I was, and am, fine. As I watched him leave on the train I knew I would be alright because my life in London is all about me. In these last few months I have managed to carve out a tiny, boring little life that is all mine. London is my city- a place where I am going to figure out who I am and what I want. My life here is completely and totally my own life.

So I realized as his train disappeared into the tunnel that my boyfriend is a wonderful addition to what is already a very full life, instead of a boyfriend-shaped hole that subtracts from my life in his absence. So I kissed him goodbye and went to class, and although I miss him and will sleep fitfully for a few nights, all in all I am okay.

Redhead's First Care Package

I actually squealed when I opened my mailbox this afternoon and found a surprise care package from The Boy back home. I rushed up to my room and tore it open.... inside was a pair of cute socks (I NEED socks, and they match a new sweater I got), a dvd of San Francisco (heehee), the most awesome post card ever, and TWO- count'em- TWO bacon chocolate bars. If you've never had the incredible experience of a bacon chocolate bar, you haven't lived. Truly, they are two great things that go great together.

WEEEEEE I feel loved and happy. And I am wearing my socks tomorrow!