In which Helen is anxious and sentimental

I just blew out my hairdryer, no pun intended. Apparently it is not compatible with my travel adaptor.

Did laundry today. There was a girl in our laundry room that had about five million things to wash, including her huge comforter. Didn't know what she was doing. The usual valley girl syndrome. Spent the whole time getting a friend of hers to tell her what to do -- where to put the coins, what cycle to put it on -- and then took up nearly all of the dryers before rushing off to class.

As I left the building in the evening to go to Sainsbury's, my closest grocery store, there was an indian man with a prominent English accent who said to his son (I presume) as I passed: "You will love it here. London is the greatest city in the world," as the boy jumped up and down to keep up with his dad's (presumably) hurrying footsteps.

I'm a bit anxious right now. Have to speak to "money" people about how much money they are giving me from my loans for this semester toward paying my tuition and housing as well as private money I can use for other things. Am afraid it won't be enough. I figure my happiness has to be spoiled in some manner. Everyone else around me is so miserable, I figure I have to be a bit too. I've been putting it off since I got here. Will report.

I wanted to write that when I arrived here I did not feel overwhelming happiness -- as though I was about to experience something profoundly new. I felt content like one does when they come back home. I still feel this way, as I visit familiar places -- the Globe theatre, Tralfagar Square, the Strand, Regent's Park, Oxford Street, the theatre's I saw shows in, the shops I went into (but rarely bought anything from), the take-away food places I sometimes indulged in. As I watch the people running to whatever destination-- no one walks at a leisurely pace here -- and hear accents from the various cultures, and am inundated by the advertisements on posters -- as I hear the sounds of London, the taxi's engines, the wind through the trees, the leaves falling from the trees, the cacophony of people's voices, I do not feel like a visiter but as (somewhat like) a returning soldier coming home after being away for so long.