some last thoughts

Buckingham Palace

I have had a difficult time writing on here lately. I just don't know what to write. And everything I do, sounds so bleak, a bit overly dramatically so, like it is coming out of a Dickens novel.

But I want to write something about what is going on right now, if not for your curiosity, then so I have an extract of the day before I leave for London for what will probably be some time.

I walk around the street of London in a daze. (Dickens is calling). But I always have. Even when I lived here years ago. I thought today as I walked down a particularly well-known street, the Strand, that it is only the first week that I am in London after not having been for some time that I feel very invigorated, and everything -- from the shoppes, to the cabbies, the people walking on the streets, the lights, the sounds, the smells -- are particularly noticed by me; enchant me, really. That after that week everything becomes normal and for me I am unable to really feel inspired again. I don't necessarily feel bad -- I do not hate London at this point, I don't even slightly dislike it -- I love walking its streets, jostling for a position on the wide side walks that are never big enough, so that you are continually bumping into people, and having to do little ballet moves to get out of people's way (jumping to the right side with your left leg left hanging in the air so as to not collide with the very fast walking -- as all Londoners are -- man with brief case heading your way).

Everything becomes normal. You recognize the hum of the cabs, the sight of yet again another building built in the 19th century. It may be old, but it houses Cafe Nerro. The building contrasting with the garish cafe lights.

I wish miss London when I am home. I will wish I can walk its streets. After a week, Pittsburgh will seem normal.

I have gone to just about every place I love -- which is pretty much every place in London -- these last two weeks. Harrods for tea and scones; Hyde Park where the flowers are just in bloom. Regent's Park, where I last lived, and where my greatest memories of London lie. Oxford Street and Regent Street, always bustling. Piccadilly Circus, the theatre district. Charing Cross with its miles of books. The South Bank where I live now, not quite like Regent's Park, but always in an uproar, with street entertainers, music, food cooked outside, the river Thames featured predominately.

I am pretty much packed. It will be hard to leave. I will probably have several nervous breakdowns on Thursday until I get home to the security of home.

Dickens never escapes me.