The fog outside my windows is like a sweater bundling the city

Low clouds are cozy and sleepy, demanding hot chocolate, a blanket, and someone warm to curl up against. If at all possible, it also requests a crackling fire.

This morning seems so long ago. Is it time to crawl back into bed yet?

Parabolic movement

Curve balls are fun. Not unlike the way in which one handles an overly attentive Parisian man-stranger, one learns to dodge and deal in a ninja-like fashion. All I can say, is at least I'm not alone. Gratitude burns a comforting warmth in my rib cage.

Manna

I've underestimated Seattle's capacity for coffee. I could speak at length, but suffice it to say, by international standards, Seattle makes a damn fine roast.

Complementary colours

Once upon a time there was a balloon named Ozzy. Shiny and red with long yellow and white ribbons, she (yes, she) enjoyed a life of aimless air current transportation, sailing to and fro, battered by breezes, occasionally caught by a tree branch, cable antennae, the hands of a child.

One day Ozzy got caught on the handlebars of a motorcycle. The boy driving the motorcycle enjoyed having her along, reveling in the festive quality she leant his ride. They zoomed down windy alleyways and up steep hills and around tight turns. Ozzy stretched long in the wind resistance. Suddenly, a wayward branch snagged the yellow and white ribbons, tearing Ozzy away from her breakneck journey.

A thorn on the branch gently punctured her red side, releasing a small but steady stream of helium. Slowly, Oz drifted down, turning upside down. She spent the rest of the day getting used to life from a new perspective.

Cuppa

I think my most favorite thing about England is the camaraderie of tea. In a house with half a dozen people about at ay particular time, I am frequently asked if I'd like any tea, and how I'd like to take it. Milk? Sugar? They see it as common courtesy, but I can't help but feel singled out and taken care of.

Anonymity can be lonely.

Not only lonely, but also exhausting. Mustering the energy to traipse into a city full of gems to discover and experience is satisfying and worthwhile, but so tiring. One can't help but wish they had someone with them, if only to exchange knowing glances of the emotional spectrum.

Haunting the National Portrait Gallery today, I had the pleasure of experiencing "The Beatles to Bowie 1960s" exhibit. It was fascinating to see the young faces of so many budding rock stars, their images beautifully and creatively rendered. I am smitten.

Time to not mope. I'm in London, after all.

Running up escalators is less romantic than you might think.

I pride myself on my attention to detail. I should perhaps expend less effort in pride, and more in detail, considering the last 5 minutes at the airport on Saturday. Hearing that my plane was about to leave while I was separated by a train ride and a series of Everestesque escalators provokes a strange reaction. Namely, racing pulse, shaking hands, and fleeting, half-formed attempts at "If I miss this flight, how will I go about getting to London?" I did feel like a runner in a race being encouraged by bystanders as British Air employees urged me on to the gate as I awkwardly sprinted by. Twenty, fifteen seconds later and I am certain I would have been denied entrance. It felt like the scene of some cliche romantic comedy in which the heroine, embarking on her trip to EUROPE, begins what is certain to be a string of misadventures with one at the airport.

The goodbye was worth it, though.

An issue of volume

If my heart was a glass with water in it, the water would by sloshing over the top and spilling onto the floor.

Charlie the Eraser

Once upon a time there was an eraser named Charlie.

Charlie had a lot to learn about being an eraser. He was newly popped out of his eraser package and dropped into a cacophony of office people.

Chuck quickly became friends with Dot the blue Bic pen. Dot was a little older than Charlie, and was able to show him the ropes around the sometimes convoluted, cliquey society of the desk world.

She liked Charlie, and vice versa, because they could coexist without fear of impacting the other. Charlie couldn't erase Dot. They were each other's "safe zone".

Anyway.

One day Charlie was abruptly taken to be used by one of the office giants. Dot grieved. Charlie, in his angst, sprouted little eraser legs to make his way back to his blue love. These legs carried him across the office back to the desk of his homeland.

He climbed the desk leg, hauled himself over the edge, and tumbled at Dot's feet.
Dot threw her cap off, and wrote all over Charlie "I love you, mutant eraser".

It was love.

The end.