Is this the real life?

I survived the first day of London. It doesn't sound like much, but this required four or five winds of energy, a lot of caffeine, and an unflinching hope that the interminable, freezing rain would stop.

Flights were fine, save for a hyperactive, step-dancing child in Newark who nearly kicked my laptop. The 90-minute-long queue for border control was not so fine. Dragging a 40-pound bag on my shoulder was also not fine. The cab ride in from Heathrow, in which my sympathetic driver stopped at the Theatre Royal Haymarket so I could get a ticket for a play, was extra fine.

Was unable to check in at Grosvenor House until 1:30. Room is not big enough to fit suitcase horizontally. Refuse to pay 300 GBP a week for this shit if this is the room I'll have come the academic year. Room also has no electricity upon arrival. Solid job, LSE.


SERIOUSLY?

Having arrived at 10:15, this sucked inordinate amounts. Bought UK SIM card. Registered with NHS. Begged housing to let me into my real, non-miniscule room early. Was denied. Went food shopping at Tesco Express. Broke the cash register at Tesco Express. Am now probably banned from Tesco Express. Will now subsist solely on Special K, white wine, and Diet Coke.


Meal of champions.

Have UK debit card with no money on it. Cheque won't be processed for two weeks. Is there a British colloquialism for "shit"?

Napped for approximately one hour before realizing that London could have both outrageous heat and muggy rain in the same minute. Could not find convenience store that is apparently a block away, so went to Piccadilly Circus for conditioner. Made it home, returned to Piccadilly for coffee. Despite coffee, still almost passed out during Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, starring my two favorite History Boys. Sat in favorite seat in the center of the front row, which now means I've seen up said History Boys' noses. Stalked the stage door until was informed that History Boys were drinking at the bar inside and would not come out. Until tomorrow, History Boys.

Tomorrow: Betrayal. Friend from home. Sleep? This is England.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is what we call "purgatory"

I leave in 23 days. Am I ready? No. Am I remotely prepared for my MSc in Political Sociology? God, no. Do I understand sociological theory in the slightest? HA. Will I have crushing student debt for just a year of studying? In the words of the lesser Sarah P., you betcha!

I have the distinct feeling that studying abroad isn't going to be so unbearably light this time around.

BUT. I do have my visa and I FINALLY have a housing assignment. I also have a Hannah Arendt finger puppet to bring some unbearable lightness to this year of dense theories and repetitive readings. This, dear readers, is what we call a great success.

Winning London one unexpected acceptance at a time

'Ello, readers!

So you might have noticed that I haven't posted in a few months. It's partially because I'm no longer living a fabulous existence jet-setting around Europe, and also partially because I'm bored to death in Miami, and yeah. What's happened the past few months? Well, I've been trying to survive senior year. There have been a few close calls, but I'm still standing.

There was a time where I thought I'd be spending the year after graduating in Germany, and while that's still a slight possibility, there's something potentially even more exciting.

I've been accepted to grad school -- not just any grad school, either. Only my dream grad school in one of my favorite cities on earth.


Ladies and gentlemen, I'm going to the London School of Economics. You may have guessed from the name (but a surprising number of people don't make the connection), but it's in London: London as in the capital of both England and the United Kingdom.



Guess who's going back to Europe this fall!

But yeah, any way, I have a conditional acceptance for the MA History of International Relations, the only conditions being that I, you know, actually graduate, and that I do so with a 3.5 overall, which I think is doable but really, finite math might thwart me yet. I decided that I don't really want History of International Relations so I've applied to change my degree to MSc Political Sociology, but even if I don't get in, I don't lose my original acceptance.

Song of the year:


Living the dream.

262,800 Minutes

Everything I said about measuring my time in a place and not knowing how to say goodbye... It's crap, total and complete crap, because to quote from No Country for Old Men, you can't stop what's coming. Sooner or later, those last 17 hours in Prague were going to pass and I'd be in line to check in with my 50 kg of luggage and 12 hours later I'd be in the States dismayed by the horrifically ugly people and the ugly accents and the ugly lack of culture. All good things come to an end, I guess. I couldn't stay in Prague forever. Does distance make the heart grow fonder? I feel like I left a bit of myself over in the Czech Republic. I feel like such a mess because everybody's study abroad experience has to come to an end because then it wouldn't be special. I don't know why I'm taking it worse than others. Am I? I have no idea.

So how do I measure six months? In friendships, in classes, in traveling, in new experiences and new places and new lessons, new books and new crises. Prague may frustrate me to death but I love it with every fiber of my being, and I'll miss it just as much. Na shledanou, Prague. It's been surreal.

Song of the century:

Survivor: Prague

So I have around 17 hours left in Prague, and despite this summer pretty much sucking, I'm really profoundly sad about leaving this city. It's been my home for six months and even though I currently associate it with stress and exhaustion and drama, it's my home. For better or for worse, I know this city better than I know Miami, Coral Springs, or Coral Gables... maybe even New York at this point. The thing is, unlike when I left in May, I have no idea when I'll be back. Maybe next year if I'm lucky? Who knows. I'm walking around and trying to take it all in, but who knows if it'll stick. I've been on the verge of tears all day and even the smallest normalcy makes me emotional. It's also rainy and brutally hot, but that's Prague for you.

I did well on my two finals and my two term papers, but I've been busting my ass all week trying to do my 20-page paper on the German annexations of 1938. That's meant a ton of nights in the Globe downing coffee and contemplating offing myself. I haven't had a chance to properly enjoy this city, well, ever. Since I leave tomorrow, I had to get my affairs in order today... which means I'm not allowed to have fun since final Czech purchases must be made and belongings packed and rooms cleaned and packages mailed.

It's not like I'd know how to say goodbye to Prague anyway. To steal from Rent, how do you measure your time in a city? In bars, in cafes, in restaurants or tourist attractions? I'm so sick of Old Town Square that I could puke, and Wenceslas never really did it for me. I'll miss the familiarity, the excitement, the foreignness, and the novelty of it all. I'll miss the classes and the professors - the best I've ever had. I won't miss the stress, but I'm proud of what I've written and accomplished here. I might even go as far as saying that I've learned a bit about myself too.

So Amanda and I are the last ones here from Spring 2010, Erasmus and American groups included, and I feel like we've won a cracked-out version of Survivor: Prague. Do I win a million dollars... or at least a return ticket?

This is the worst trip I've ever been on

Prague, I love you but get me the fuck out of here.