It’s been three months since leaving London. Thinking about the three months spent abroad vs. the three months since coming home, it kind of kills me. All of the wondrous trips and food and friends crammed into such a short period of time, versus my time at home, which has mostly been spent plowing through TV shows I’ve never seen and knitting more scarves. It was this snap of the fingers from driving teeny roads through Ireland to filling out job applications day after day after day.
It sets in more each day as my bank account dwindles down to almost nothing, and I have to weigh the option of seeing friends, grabbing a meal, and spending the gas versus making a car payment or setting aside the fee for a week’s derby practice.
Travel Channel’s going London crazy, with the Olympics Opening Ceremony just a week away. Last night, I watched a program about “hidden London” - some places which I knew, and some which I didn’t. And at some point it hits you that you can’t just get back on the tube to go check it out. I can’t just treat myself to a Cookies and Scream scream sandwich, or take a stroll through Hyde Park. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that.
But I’m not sure it’s the place I miss, so much as the experience of it all. And perhaps the freedom of not having to worry so much about a paid job for a few months.