It’s like the suspension of healthy eating habits over Christmas… I shamefully allowed myself to neglect my blog these past few weeks and now find, comparable to my straining waistband, that my brain strains to play catch up. All in good time, and good writing, shall I get back to my old routine.

Kings Road, Chelsea, SW3 postal code, London.

I  now identify with every part of that sentence, and am so happy I could cry.  It’s been dark since 3pm, and I sit here, sipping rose wine by a window, admiring my life…

It has been a week for overwhelming emotions, and a week for reunions: a native tongue, my best friend, and a boundless,  starving energy for the new. Stevie found me on the ground floor of H&M, Europe’s Old Navy, respectfully. Clutching at the least expensive skirt and sweater in sight, desperate for anything but the same purple dress I’d been wearing since Vienna (the joys of receiving bad news at the Luggage Inquiry Office). I felt the return of my other half before I heard her voice. It was as if a light that had been shadowed finally burst in brilliant clarity, and as I turned already smiling, there she was, ready for the pounce and hug.

And then London embraced me. Over the past week, my new, equally as fabulous staff at IES London has given me the chisel with which to carve my place in this city. I’ve bypassed the deer in headlights syndrome and mastered the tube already, have belled (instead of phoned) new friends with my British mobile, and have even accepted the usefulness of an umbrella, though my Washington instincts tell me I’ve sold out.

This. Is. My. City.

I feel more at home here than I could have ever hoped. The rhythm of London is like the yin to my yang, complimenting my energy and making me whole.

I call him Hank, the pub across the street… the pub I entered my second night for dinner and some people watching. Arriving two days before the scheduled start date, I could not bear the thought of wasting time, waiting lonesome in my room for the other students to arrive. Those who know me know I am simply too outgoing… Those who know me know I did not leave my country to make friends with other Americans… Desi surely knows my weakness for British accents, so it should come as no surprise that I grabbed my handbag and bolted out the door.

Genius. In a night I shall never forget, I met the entire Chelsea Fire Brigade: bickering over “football”, slinging back the ale, utterly infatuated with the presence of an American exchange student; my introduction to the true, raunch filled British humour; the beginning of several hilarious acquaintances.

A woman named Daisy saved me and has quickly become a friendly face. From Fulham, she is guiding me through the minefield of British slang and translating, though sometimes I wish she wouldn’t, what I fail to understand. A real ace of girl, someone I know I will share many more memorable moments with come May, and who will add greatly to the depth and significance of my experience in England.

There is a feeling in my stomach that indicates something huge is happening. It is a feeling that makes me scared, makes me anxious, but a feeling I wish would never fade. I am here, in my element, twenty, and on the brink of life excelling. Wide-eyed, like a girl in love… in love with her life.

All my love.

Bristol