4 days in london

highlights:

• my sister being so so happy and radiant, andrew being such a sweetheart
• catherine’s sweet friends
• andrew’s sweet family and friends
• hearing about andrew’s playlist for catherine (“i’m ittner you” maybe? some kind of pun on “into” and “ittner”)
• rain!!!! heaven sent!
• going to a futbol game with braxton, dad, ross, and christopher
• a luxurious blow-dry 💆🏻‍♀️
• cappuccinos on the regular
• ross being such a champion
• being in a city
• exclusively taking ~very hot~ baths
• eating sri lankan food! eating italian food!
• everyone being so thoughtful about me being a vegetarian [prayer hands]
• white wine on the regular
• my sister getting me all those pastries for my flight home
• frozen yogurt and loaded fries at the airport with caroline, sarah, and ross
• my red prairie nightgown dress that i wore for the wedding — it wasn’t flattering and was too big BUT it had a LOT of ruffles and the color was poppin, and i had not agonized over it, so –> perfect
• sitting next to those two nice british chaps on the plane, who asked if i got black tea because of my stay in england lol
• missing my train back to marfa, a gift and a blessing
• my sunshiney uber driver in austin who said, “everyone is trying their best,” a great reminder at a low moment

what do you make of this message that appeared on the dash of my rental car

ok here we is

my leg is finally healing!!!! the whole endeavor has been like one of those “tell me that you’re old without telling me that you’re old” memes. in other news, i’m going to london on wednesday, haven’t been since i was 18 (almost 30 years ago). that’s not THAT crazy — there are tons of places that i’ve NEVER been, but something about the “in almost 30 years” phrase is kind of chilling. also i was looking at my photos from that trip and even though i now have mad (depressing, suddenly v. intense?) wrinkles, i wouldn’t swap the now me for the me at 18 (a lovely person but definitely not totally formed) (chubby face, style in its larval stages), which was sort of nice to realize. that OG england trip was a UT trip centered around studying in oxford, and its catchphrase — “poets, plays, and pubs” — was what reeled me in. honestly the plays were AWESOME; the pubs so-so; the poets obviously great. and i made one life-long friend out of it! so obviously — 10 out of 10.

anyway. i didn’t turn in an assignment last tuesday, because i was just 100% cashed out and now i’m a bitter about this class — have an assignment due the day i return from london ????? three videos??? trying to do them now but some small meek part of me is like CAN I JUST CATCH MY BREATH FOR ONE DAMN SECOND?

also did i tell you that the couch we ordered last summer arrived and it is honestly heaven? and that i made ross go get me some ice cream (lemon bar by jeni’s) JUST BECAUSE I’M A BRAT? and also that “creep” by TLC remains an excellent song (everyone gonna take “waterfalls” but i’m right on this one).

tap tap tap tap tap

first of all, i’m working at my desk and see this peeking out of my organizer:

TURNS OUT THERE’S NO SECOND

update x 2!!!

foot/leg still a mess. I would post a picture but i am feeling too disgusting. well, i’ll post a photo from monday. it somehow seems to be getting worse? but is that even possible?

in other news, two essays down, working on the third and over it. which is why i’m looking up the brooklyn nets roster. are all rosters so cute. also seth curry is cute, but also funny to me that they put up this temp sixers jersey photo. can i talk about more boring stuff. yes, namely will my leg ever heal. i prayeth yes!

UPDATE !!!

two more gross pictures of my leg, but when taking off my sock last night, discovered twin (faint) bruises on the anklebones! WHAT KIND OF TRIP WAS THIS. i mean what exactly happened that night. i’ll keep discussing this until the pain subsides, the brusies fade, and/or i’m done with these essays.

thoughts on a saturday night while taking a pause from my end-of-program week-long exam

first, i’m OBSESSED with my leg bruise, which i acquired monday night when i hard tripped over a pothole. i immediately pressed on it (so it wouldn’t bruise?) but it still got swollen and now it’s a patchwork light-colored bruise that kind of looks like skin camo. here’s a gross picture of it because — i must.

ALSO i love basketball because you see all the problems that regular people struggle with (KIND OF) (stay with me) — james harden so good but not really able to capitalize; russell westbrook speaking out about disrespect (i think?), ben simmons angry about something, all these people with so much potential who are at the tops of their games and yet — still so human.

p.s. i watched i want you back the night before the test began and i really enjoyed it! it’s legit funny and sweet. why not try it.

p.s.

we watched (most of) get back, peter jackson’s documentary about the beatles this weekend — largely it felt like a meditation on long relationships and creative partnerships and how they can unravel, even when everything is still good. also the beatles were so young at the time of filming, ranging from ages 26-29, which is just insane. also billy preston seems so sweet (ONLY 23!) (am i obsessed with age), and we laughed quite hard about kevin, the red-headed roadie, who has to hold the lyrics for john during their rooftop performance.

(image of beatles rooftop concert, january 30, 1969, via all dylan)

also i’m low-grade panicking about my end-of-grad-school exams, which start friday and go for a week, amid work and school and everything, and like oh god how do i do it, do i even know how to write a research paper? THREE research papers? actually do i know anything? to assuage this fear — blogging, of course.

i know you are reading this poem

“From an Atlas of the Difficult World”
by Adrienne Rich
(via Best Poems)

I know you are reading this poem
late, before leaving your office
of the one intense yellow lamp-spot and the darkening window
in the lassitude of a building faded to quiet
long after rush-hour. I know you are reading this poem
standing up in a bookstore far from the ocean
on a grey day of early spring, faint flakes driven
across the plains’ enormous spaces around you.
I know you are reading this poem
in a room where too much has happened for you to bear
where the bedclothes lie in stagnant coils on the bed
and the open valise speaks of flight
but you cannot leave yet. I know you are reading this poem
as the underground train loses momentum and before running
up the stairs
toward a new kind of love
your life has never allowed.
I know you are reading this poem by the light
of the television screen where soundless images jerk and slide
while you wait for the newscast from the intifada.
I know you are reading this poem in a waiting-room
of eyes met and unmeeting, of identity with strangers.
I know you are reading this poem by fluorescent light
in the boredom and fatigue of the young who are counted out,
count themselves out, at too early an age. I know
you are reading this poem through your failing sight, the thick
lens enlarging these letters beyond all meaning yet you read on
because even the alphabet is precious.
I know you are reading this poem as you pace beside the stove
warming milk, a crying child on your shoulder, a book in your
hand
because life is short and you too are thirsty.
I know you are reading this poem which is not in your language
guessing at some words while others keep you reading
and I want to know which words they are.
I know you are reading this poem listening for something, torn
between bitterness and hope
turning back once again to the task you cannot refuse.
I know you are reading this poem because there is nothing else
left to read
there where you have landed, stripped as you are.

colin firth, me

i saw this gif of colin firth dancing in mamma mia! and felt an eerie similarity in our jawlines.