Looking Back

Rereading my old posts this evening I have noticed a few things. First, I think it is safe to safe that I have had a really tough year. I wanted London to be an exciting adventure, and instead it has been an absolute trial. But the second thing I noticed is how I have changed so much since I moved here nine months ago.

In my reading I ran across this entry, entitled I Hope Nostalgia Makes This All Seem Better dated 18 November of last year. I talked about hoping that I would look back on that first term when I faced my fear of failing and think about it as a good ol' learning experience. Turns out that the learning experience I would look back on would be an entire year of consistent failing and fighting and picking myself up over and over again. I had no idea what was coming for me.

I had no idea that I would learn to accept failure and get over it quickly. I had no idea I was capable of being smacked down so many times and getting back up again. I had no idea what hard work really was in fact.

I had no idea that the hard work would not pay off. I had no idea that the school would be run by rule-enforcing monkeys who see in black and white. I had no idea that CSM would in fact turn out to be a fantastic school for students who already know exactly how to do what CSM wants. I had no idea that I would learn so much DESPITE CSM and not BECAUSE of it. The girl who wrote that entry would never have guesed that she would be so fed up with the bullshit at CSM that she would secretly be glad they were throwing here out so she could pursue other interests.

I had no idea that I would ever be able to get an internship. And NEVER would I have guessed that I would have the presence of mind to choose to stay in London and seek out opportunities instead of going back to the comfort of my boyfriend. The girl that wrote that on the 18th of November had no idea about anything.

And yet despite all of it, I still struggle with many of the same things I always have. The long distance relationship is still incredibly difficult for me. That has not gotten any easier- in fact it has gotten more difficult the longer I stay here. I still face the same hurdles when I get stressed out. I still struggle with feeling insignificant and untalented when faced with the talented people I study with. I am still prone to fits of utter hopelessness and despair when faced with an impossible situation, and I still find myself being unreasonably furious at The Boy when he isn't there to give me a hug and calm me down. I still find that although I am MUCH better at taking criticism, I do not have a sense of confidence within myself that will ever match the strength of complimentary words from others.

It if for all these reasons that I know I am not ready to leave Europe. I am not the person I want to be when I return home. I am far from it. But someday maybe I will get to look back on this year and find that nostalgia will allow me to see the value in the experience.

It wasn't a total waste.

Heh

"Sometimes I look at you, and all the work you do, and how stressed you are, and I am so glad I decided NOT to go into fashion design."

That is what one of my flat mates said to me this morning.

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.

If It Aint Broke....

Running low on money. Can't buy sketchbook for school or soymilk for the cereal I am bumming off my room mates.

One of my more affluent room mates overheard me negotiating cereal-eating with one of the girls a few minutes ago. She ran to her room and brought back a 20pound note saying "I insist that you take this. You can pay me back when you get some money next week." I refused and thanked her. But she insisted. I HATE borrowing money, but this means I can eat and do homework tomorrow! SO excited!

YEAY!

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.

The World Keeps Turning

When I was leaving for London in September I found it hard to believe that life in San Francisco would continue without me.

I don't mean to say that I thought my role in San Francisco life was significant and irreplacable. I mean that I didn't realize how much things would stay the same. My friends still live in their apartments, still go to their jobs, still bicycle around, still want to see me. I didn't realize how easy it would be to reassemble the pieces of my old life as soon as I visited.

It seems so simple a thought. But you have to realize that I was leaving everything and everyone behind and facing the unknown, and that it seemed my life (as I knew it) was ending. So it was beyond me to consider that all the elements that add up to "My Life" would continue on without me being there to coax them along.

I fly back to London today, and I am a bit sad about it. I am stressed out about the homework I haven't yet started, and the second project I received in the mail a few days ago because I failed my first two. (That was an unpleasant surprise, and I have to go speak with my tutor about it first thing when I get back.)

I have a lot of work to do when I get back. I am really lagging when it comes to my homework. But in my defense, I haven't had a full day to myself since I arrived here. Of course now that I've found out I have twice the homework I did before, I am even more stressed out over all the research I need to do over the weekend before school begins. Ugh. I should have been more responsible with my time. Damn.

I suppose I am dreading flying back to London because I worry that I will be lonely again. Not just alone, but lonely. I am trying to remind myself that I have some new friends that will be eager to see me, and room mates that will probably meet me at the underground station when I arrive. It's not the same as seeing my long-term friends in America, but it does help sate my need for companionship.

On the other hand, I suppose being alone wasn't so bad in the end. The last two days here in San Francisco have been an odd reminder of that, ever since my boyfriend went back to work on Monday. But being alone all day in SF doesn't seem right, doesn't seem natural, whereas in London my entire life is structured around being on my own. I am used to getting around, going out, wandering, sitting in cafes, and spending most of my time with my only my own company. And I guess I'm not such bad company, really.

But I will miss having a warm boy to snuggle up to every night, and friends that I have years of history with. I will miss the sunlight. I will miss having no school schedule or school-induced stress. I will miss the familiar feel of San Francisco culture.

But I am looking forward to wandering around London again. In a weird way I am looking forward to school because I want to do better than I have before. I am looking forward to developing friends, even though it can be hard work. I am excited to hit a few museums and find some inspiration for my next couple of projects. I am looking forward to seeing the people in my program again, because I have been very lucky with the caliber of creativity and intelligence in my fellow students at St. Martins. And I suppose in a small, secret way I am sort of looking forward to being lonely. It has become my norm. Although loneliness can sometimes be unbearable for me, it allows me the space to figure myself out, unaffected by the powerful personalities I tend to collect around me.


And now I must go pack. My flight leaves at 6pm tonight, and I have a million things to take care of before I go. Next time I write to you, I will be on the other side of the pond.


I hope you had a fantastic holiday, and happy New Year to you all!

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.

First Snow

It just began to snow. First snow of the season, and unseasonably early....

Dinner = NOM NOM NOM

One of my room mates and I made dinner tonight. We baked chicken breasts that I rubbed in olive oil and seasoned with black pepper, chili powder, garlic, rosemary, basil, and lemon salt. We baked them with onions and sticks of seasoned carrots and parsnips.

The chicken was crispy with seasoning on the outside, and perfectly moist on the inside from all the olive oil, and the veggies were amazing! We shared half a bottle of white wine, and enjoyed our 20 minute meal that was delicious and healthy.

Go team!

It's Getting Better All the Time....

While I let this paint dry I thought I'd take a moment to catch you up. After a very difficult week, I am pleased to say that I have had a really good couple of days.

We have begun printing on fabric. It's been SO much fun playing around with dyes while we try to get a feel for painting with the intention of printing. Of course the real work is about to begin because we've all been just messing around with the dyes, giggling at the unexpected outcomes of our work. But now we actually have to figure out how to make the medium do what we want, as we begin designing a small collection using our prints.

I've been sketching and painting at home, trying really hard to find the direction I want to start working in. I've had no luck so far. After a meeting with my tutor today I have a better idea, but I still have a long way to go.

Besides the fact that printing on fabric is incredibly fun, it's had a few side benefits as well. Now that we are all working together in the tiny print room, we've started talking and developing relationships with one another. I'm finding that I really get along with quite a few of the other students, and some of the people I thought I'd clash with are turning out to be decent folks who were just as nervous as I was those first couple of weeks.

Thrilled by possible friendships, I am making excuses to invite people out. So, on top of the hours I'll be putting into my project this weekend, my next few days will hopefully be filled with things like attending a fashion lecture at the V&A with two classmates I really like, a trip to a farmer's market with a girl who lives down the street from me, and possibly going to the new Warhol exhibit with this girl I met on.. um... ok I met her on facebook, but she goes to my school. Anyhow, the point is I have a busy weekend ahead of me, and thankfully some of the busy stuff is social.

In the last two days I ordered some shelves from IKEA, found an awesome vintage "rock star" jacket, found three great fabric stores, began teaching myself how to paint, had a bonding moment with a gay boy over trashy drag queeny fabrics, got my first locker in the entirety of my educational history, was asked to design some graphics for my friend's T-shirt startup, and bought myself a printer/scanner that is already going to good use. So I guess, life is busy, expensive, and generally good right now.

I had my mp3 list on random the other day, and the song "La Vida Es Un Carnaval" came on. The lyrics of the chorus can be roughly translated to say "No need to cry, because life is a carnival. It's more beautiful to live it singing...." Maybe it's cheesy, but it kinda picked me up with its lyrics about people never truly being alone in life, and how you could be sure that nothing is going to change, but that things will always get better. Thank you Celia Cruz for a much-needed reminder.

And now I'm off to Sainsbury's with a room mate to buy food and a decent chopping knife. Hopefully this paint will be dry by the time I get back and I can continue working on my project before I go to dinner with another room mate for a drawing date.

Food

One of my room mates took pity on me as I microwaved a potato for dinner and made me some bacon and chicken on cheese bread to go with it. Healthy? No. Delicious? Yes. Add a few slices of ripe tomato and I was in food heaven.

However good bacon tastes on a normal day, I can promise you it tastes INCREDIBLE when you haven't eaten real protein in three days.

NOM NOM NOM.


I can't believe we're half way through October. I have almost been here one month. It feels longer. And shorter. And I guess about right, too. Before I know it I will be too busy to think, and then it will be our Christmas break, and I'll be flying back to San Francisco for almost three weeks.

My life is definitely not boring.

Oh No!

Oh my god, I just said something to my room mate and pronounced it with a pseudo-English accent. Crap, I'm becoming Madonna...

Going With the Flow (of Drinks)

It began innocently enough as a trip to the supermarket to buy dinner fixings. But on the way it was suggested that we get a drink at a local pub and scope out the Friday night scene.

My favorite room mate and I found a not-too-busy pub in which we could have a pint (we seemed to favor anything ending in "berg" or "bourg") and observe the Brits in their natural, drunken state. Drink had, dirt shared, boys avoided, we began to head back home to buy groceries and cook dinner. But on the way we passed a little park next to the church that some satanist had designed and decided that we wanted to see this strange structure in the park (it made me feel the need to read From Hell again).

At the entrance of the darkened park a small group of young guys were taking a smoke break. As we passed one of them immediately said, "you two alright? Know your way around and all that?" His friendly tone was warmed by a charming Irish accent. We appreciated his concern, introduced ourselves, and spent a good half hour smoking with Irishmen in a darkened Satanist's church park on a Friday evening.

During our initial search for a good pub, my room mate and I had noted a funny little underground bar that used to be an underground toilet, we think. It looked a little dodgy though, and had avoided it. But turns out our new friends were taking a break from a birthday party being held at that very bar. So a few minutes later my room mate and I were underground, doing tequila shots with cute Irish boys and a very drunk birthday girl (whose name I never did get, oops).

You know you're in England when people comment on how your smile is nice because your teeth are even. Lucky for me that they are, because I smiled a lot that evening as I got progressively drunker and enjoyed the attentions of a number of very sweet boys, while dancing with girls I didn't even know.

Very drunk, and still without dinner, my room mate and I stumbled home around midnight to scavenge for food in the kitchen. I began to eat some yogurt, a piece of ham, and a toaster waffle while she sorted something out with another student in our building. While I was waiting for her I decided that I needed a glass of water to stop my head from falling off my neck. But my Brita filter was all the way in my bedroom. I slowly shuffled down the hall, grabbed the water filter off my desk, and that's when everything changed. See, I spotted my bed. And that tiny little uncomfortable mattress has never looked so good, so welcoming, so comfortable as it did in that moment. I downed the water and collapsed onto my messy unmade bed. Next thing I knew, my room mate was at my side giggling and pulling my boots off.

"Wait, no, I must have stinky feet..." I mumbled.

"I don't care, stupid," she said and pulled my boots off.

"Wait, I have food on the table. I nee-"

"I'll take care of it. Here, drink some water, get some sleep." She handed me a glass of water, kissed my cheek, threw my quilt over me and closed the door.

I mumbled "thank you," as she left, but I don't know if she heard me.


Best. Room mate. Ever.


And so ended my first Friday night drinking in London.


My head hurts...

Exhausted and Slightly Downtrodden

I cannot seem to sleep. I think it has something to do with sleeping alone in a tiny bed after years of being in a queen size bed with someone else. My restless nights are compounded by regular fire alarms in the building at all hours. And then last night a mirror fell off my shelf, smashed into a plate on the desk below and sent my makeup flying around the room, shattering into the carpet. I wanted to go back to sleep, but it wasn't mean to be.

Sound travels down the hallway, and every morning a few of the room mates' more piercing voices find their way to me as they prepare breakfast in the kitchen. Sleeping in rarely happens on planet Redhead, but a little sleep would be nice right about now.

Zzzzzzz five more minutes, Mom....

Anyhow, my summer project presentation was disheartening, to say the least. I knew I hadn't gone all out for it. I knew I could have made presentation boards and painted pretty pictures. But I didn't. I was focused on the emotional havoc caused by moving, and when I arrived here I arrived with no art supplies and no fabric. Art was not high on the to-do list, I'm afraid.

But when most of the class pulled out collaged books of photographs and fabric experiments, followed by books of illustrations and test runs on mannequins, or fully painted renderings and beautiful hand made fabrics they did themselves.... I realized that I really need to step up my game.

I have never before been at the bottom of a class. I've always pulled an easy A, or at least an easy high B. But sitting in this classroom, watching everyone else present their beautiful work and all the research and time and effort they put into it.... I was ashamed to get up there and show my crappy little sketchbook. I turned red, forget everything I wanted to say, made a few excuses, flipped through a couple pages to show my thought process, and stood there to meet the blank, bored stares of my classmates and professors.

"Do I really want this?" I asked myself. "Am I cut out for this?"

And then I asked, "am I really so lazy that I'm not willing to work my way up to the top?" This program is going to be hard for me. I suppose I am used to my work being "pretty good" on average. This program is going to be quite a trial, I think.

I am not so competitive that I need to be the best. But I refuse to be the worst. I have got to pull out all the stops and dive in. I need to do things that are not fun or easy for me. I need to establish that I am not the lazy American girl that presented a shitty project the first day of class. I cannot let that first impression last. My next project has to be amazing. It has to be fucking incredible.

But on the bright side, I suppose I have nowhere to go but up. If you start at the bottom, your progress is more noted, more obvious. If you start at the bottom, you have the opportunity to blow them out of the water someday when they least expect it.

So I guess I just need to stop distracting myself and focus. Focus entirely on my courses, and not on running home to chat online, or wandering around high street looking for a jacket and a pretty lamp. From here on out, if there is any chance that I could reach higher and push myself harder, I need to do it. I need to focus on school. I did not come here to sit around online like I did back home.

And I need to get some sleep.

G'nite.

The Fun Begins....

It all began when I received my sewing machine in the mail. After finding that a few things arrived broken in a previous box, I decided that it would be wise to take a break from my homework and unpack the machine to make sure it was in working condition. Worst. Decision. Ever.

I find an adapter for the US plug and attempt to turn the sewing machine on. POW! All the electricity in my room goes out. Normally I would just go find the fuse box and flip a switch, but our switches are behind locked doors, so I had to find someone who had a key.

The Senior Resident on call was a very sweet girl named Lauren. We opened every single locked door in the flat , and after we had no luck finding my room's fuse box, I suddenly had a thought. Remember that "potentially problematic door" I posted a photo of? I asked her if the fuse box for my room might be outside in the fire escape area. Turns out I was right... But this suggestion of mine kicked off a series of discoveries that led to an interesting night for the whole flat.

When Lauren tried to unlock the "potentially problematic" fire door we realized that the lock had been broken, and that the door has been open to the outside world this whole time. All my jokes about setting up a lounge area in the room off of the fire escape? They weren't funny any more because we found that our unlocked fire door had left our flat open to anyone in our building. Adding to the sudden feeling of discomfort was compounded by the fact that it seemed a lot of other people knew they could get up here and took advantage of it.

When Lauren and I (followed by my flat mates, many of whom were awakened by the noise) went out into the hallway to flip my fuse switch, we found that someone decided that our indoor fire escape was a good place to do some spray paint artwork. The ghost of spray painted 11x17 papers in various colors littered the carpeting. Our mystery artist even left a can of red paint and their latest creation drying on the floor in front of my fuse box.

We turned the corner and found that someone had been smoking on our steps, and left us a little mess to clean. (Last week, many of us commented that our hallway smelled of smoke. Now we know why.)

It was midnight by now, and this whole situation would have looked very funny if it weren't for one problem. All this "vandalism" was done outside out top floor flat, so it of course would appear that WE did it. The fine for something like this is a few hundred quid, minimum.

But the only problem we could deal with at midnight was my lack of electricity. Now that we'd found my fuse box, we flipped the switch. Nothing happened. We did it again, and waited. Still nothing. Phone calls were made, drama ensued, but when the overhead light popped back on in my room, there was great rejoicing in the camp! Everyone shuffled back to their rooms, I thanked Lauren profusely, offered to buy her a bottle of wine for her trouble, and settled down to complete my homework.

Before she left Lauren promised to talk to the building owners on our behalf regarding the mess and mysterious broken lock (and hopefully get it fixed so we aren't giving everyone free access to our flat).

All was well it seemed. That is until I found that despite my overhead light working, all my electrical sockets were still completely dead.

I called Lauren again, very apologetically, and we began searching for the mystery switch that would turn my power sockets back on. The noise of Lauren and I talking alerted all the room mates that something was up, and soon they were all awake and gawking at the cigarettes and spray paint.

My room mates were understandably of freaked out about the unlocked fire door, and tempers were rising about the mess. But none of this was as pressing a concern to me as the fact that nothing seemed to be turning my power sockets back on. With everyone's permission, Lauren and I shut off the main power to the whole flat. Sitting in the dark hallway, lit only by emergency lighting, what could you do but laugh at the situation? "Wow, you broke the flat the first day of school," someone said to me. Heh, whoops.

It was 12:30 or so, and I was getting a little punchy. I was finding that my concern about not having power was slowly being outweighed by concerns about the fines that we would have to fight when the building managers found out about the mess our mystery friends had made.

All the girls seemed to be getting progressively more upset about the spray paint on the floor. The lovely piece of artwork that our mysterious artistic friend had left to dry seemed to be egging them on. I think a few of the girls were feeling very exposed and victimized, what with the door to our flat unlocked and broken. So I decided to do something that would make us all feel in control again, and redirect our collective anger back to the place where it should have been. I grabbed a dark marker....



... and let them know that we were somewhat annoyed.



I really hope the artist comes upstairs looking for their paint cans and art piece soon.

I guess my punchiness had rubbed off on everyone because as soon as I emerged from my room with a pen announcing my intentions, my flat mates grabbed their cameras to record me being what was later termed "the flat's guard bitch" and "the mean one" and "the girl who starts shit". (It was suggested that they get me a "guard dog on duty" sign for my door. "Why not just put a nice big welcome mat outside our unlocked fire escape door?" I had said. "What, so you can beat up anyone who comes through?" they'd giggled.)

We never did get my power turned back on. I am writing to you now on battery power while the wine buzz wears off. At 1:00am we ended the evening with a lot of shrugging, and a "who needs wine and cookies?!" comment that brought about, well, wine and cookies.

So maybe I started some shit with the people below us. But you know what? Fuck them. I am pissed that their actions might cause a very expensive fight with the building owners. I am completely prepared to follow this through, too. If the people downstairs want to fuck with us, the flat's "guard bitch on duty" is happy to confront them. In fact, I suppose I already have. And the whole mess will be reported by a Senior Resident who was there to witness the situation and who took photos of the whole thing. Let the fun begin...

If all goes well, an electrician will show up tomorrow around 8am to fix my room's power. And maybe the door to our flat will be locked before anyone can try to retaliate for my little note. (Hm, maybe I should have considered that before I wrote on their artwork, hm?)


...you know, I never did get this homework done....

Potential

So my dorm flat feels very much like a hospital. It is not a happy or welcoming place. This is our hallway:

We have all lamented the fact that the only hang out space we have is our pathetic little kitchen in the middle of the flat.

This evening (perhaps fueled by entirely too much wine with dinner) I had a thought as I walked to my room. See that green fire exit sign in the photo above? It points to a door that opens to a hallway to a fire escape. I pass that door every day and never before noted the fact that there is a little room off of the hallway.



Hmmmmmmmmmmmm........

Yes, we would get into all sorts of trouble if anyone found out. But it could be full of a shag rug and a coupla bean bags and, like, a lava lamp, dude. I mean, come on, it wouldn't even be in the way of the hallway to the fire exit, so it's not dangerous...

However, that green key-like thingamy on the door is potentially problematic as none of us know if it will set off the fire alarm. But being the bad person I am, I might find myself consulting the flat mates before trying it just to see what happens.

Or maybe I shouldn't drink so much.

Of Course

What do you do when your flatmate genuinely enjoys doing ironic calisthenics to 80's videos in the morning?

You do them with her, of course.

And you wear sweatbands.

Enrolled (and stuff)

I enrolled today. Which is apparently not the same thing is registering for classes. In fact, no classes were involved. I simply handed them a few sheets of paper and they said, "ok, you're enrolled, now scram!"

I had to ask around a couple of times, but it seems I am supposed to show up again next Monday to find out what my classes are. Which means I don't start classes until Tuesday at the earliest. It also means I really need to get my ass in gear and work on this summer homework assignment they gave us.

I'm having a tough time sketching in my room. But then I've always found that my bedroom is a void of productivity. One of the major downsides to this dorm is that there is no common room to hang out besides the kitchen, and the kitchen isn't the greatest place to do anything, much less be creative. And just to worsen the artistic black hole that is my bedroom, I've also found that the eight hour difference between all my friends and I makes my evenings my only time to catch up with people. Thus making it very hard for me to pull away from Skype to go draw sometimes. But perhaps I'm just making excuses for being lazy...

Anyhow, the highlight of my day was reading in a warm cafe while it rained and blustered outside. Curled up in a worn brown leather armchair I cracked the cover of Tropic of Cancer while I sipped scalding hot coffee. It was perfect.

Around 11pm this evening I messaged my room mate, "I want a cookie so badly it's ridiculous." She replied, "want to go on a walk with a mission?" So we headed out into the evening in search of late night sweets and returned home with two large bottles of cider and a delicious in-no-way-a-compromise cookie dough ice cream. Now, sugar high and slightly tipsy, I suppose I should settle in, shut off the computer, and get my homework done.


G'nite intarweb.

Enrolling!

Tomorrow at noon I enroll for classes and meet the other students in my program. I am ridiculously excited! Let's hope there are some like-minded people in my classes. Weeeee! School has never been a source of excitement like this before, so this is a new one for me. I think it's a good sign. :)

I had a really shitty day today full of problems coming up, things going wrong, and me losing something I really liked. And somehow the day just got progressively worse. But one of my room mates and I made dinner together, and once the other room mates joined us in the kitchen, I found that the social time made everything seem less terrible.

My flat mates are an interesting crew. We are such an odd mix of different people. Dinners could be potentially awkward if we don't find a good balance.

And now, it is midnight. I'm going to head to bed and try to get some beauty rest. Gotta look pretty for the enrollment people tomorrow, right?

G'nite world.

On Living Elsewhere

"Ohmigod, I HATE how I don't know any of the brands here. Everything is different. It's SO annoying," someone said to me.

And this illustrates why some people will not make the most of this experience studying abroad. If small differences frustrate you, perhaps you shouldn't put yourself in the midst of a different culture for a number of years.

At first glance, living in English culture doesn't seem like that much of a stretch for an American. We speak the "same" language, and live in what appears to be very similar ways. But I have found that our two cultures are unexpectedly different. Being a fashion designer I think of it like shopping for fabric. From a distance, satin is satin is satin. But touch the satin, and you'll find the fibers in the fabrics are completely different.

In the week that I've lived here, I have already found that the differences between our cultures are many, and often subtle. But the words and lifestyle often seem deceptively similar, and it is easy to forget that I am living in an entirely different culture over here.

So I suppose there is a tiny bit of culture shock happening for my room mates and I. But unlike my room mate who likes to complain about it, I am having the best time with it! I am really enjoying this opportunity to observe Brits in their natural habitat and learn from these creatures that are so similar to my own species.

Before I left the states I was terribly nervous that I would appear to be one of those stupid, ignorant American tourists. But luckily I haven't found that to be much of a problem. In fact today I even gave directions to two English women. Go me!

When I woke up this morning it was beautiful and sunny. Inspired by this rare California-style heat, I decided to expand my knowledge of the local-ish neighborhood. I wandered down to Brick Lane and walked all the way up to Commercial Street where I meandered up and down the various streets and alleys in the area until I noticed shops were closing up. My afternoon revealed two local fabric stores (yeay!), a number of restaurants I absolutely must try, two of the most incredible vintage shops I've ever been to (and I have been to many), three contenders for the "Local Comfy Coffee Shop" title, and most importantly that I don't come across as an American who doesn't want to be here.