Maybe If I Just Start Typing

I've been sitting here for ages, thinking, "I ought to blog...but about what?"

There are snippets of things I could talk about, but nothing interesting enough for a whole post. Even doing one of my little "What's News?" posts seems boring, or that there's not enough for that, even. So I guess just letting my thoughts come out through my fingers on the keyboard will do for now.

What have I been up to the last few days? Working out--I had a great, kick-ass workout yesterday, and a so-so workout this morning. I typed up a plan for this week and have been taking it to the gym. Saw Gershom yesterday and he saw my little plan. He couldn't resist asking about it, so I handed it to him and he smiled. "I like this--this is a lot of working out this week." The trainer is still a trainer, even if I'm not actually working with him. I like that I can still ask questions and get advice.

I've also been scrapbooking, working on my London Semester 1999 project and having a lot of success. The hardest part has been salvaging certain pictures. In 1999, I loved the fancy-schmancy scissors that make fancy edges on the photos. Now I hate them. My tastes have totally changed to a more streamlined look that showcases the photo, not the silly scissors. So I've been cropping those down. Also, 1999 was way before I went digital (was anyone digital then?) and my photos are not the same as the pictures I would take today. For one thing, I take a ton more pictures now that I've gone digital and don't  have to worry about wasting film or paying to process them. I take more "risks," getting interesting angles and framing things in a way that others might not think of. So my photos from London Semester are more limited in both numbers and creativity. Still, I did manage to get some good ones, and it's fun reliving the memories.

The whole story of London Semester and how it saved my life is kind of interesting. I think of Fall 1998 and Spring 1999 as a turning point in my life, in which I truly started to become and adult.

It's no secret that I was the sheltered, adored and slightly spoiled daughter of my family. My parents trained me for the real world, but I was still quite naive when I went to college. I had a small group of friends, and by Fall Semester 1998, I felt like I was on top of the world. My BFF from high school (let's call her Sandy) was transferring to Chico, and we would be roommates with Bianca, who I'd shared an apartment with the year before. Always hanging out at our place were two other friends, Rhonda and Ron. I had romantic designs on Ron, and thought that as soon as he got his life together (massive credit card debt, family drama, working odd jobs and quitting school after freshman year...oh, honey, what were you thinking?), we'd be set up for the romance of a lifetime. Of course, I was wrong, and after the Dear Jane email he sent in September, I was heartbroken...and my pride was wounded.

My pride (which is considerable--I'm a Leo) was wounded even more, when, three days later, Ron started a relationship with Sandy. It hurt. I reacted. The shit hit the fan.

Friendships were ruined--all of them. Depression set in. But then the most amazing thing happened. I boarded a 747 in San Francisco and emerged 10 or so hours later in London...and I never looked back.

I learned how to navigate the Tube without getting myself lost, hit by a train, or ever standing in a station crying from frustration (it's really not that hard, but people freak out when they see the map). I kissed cute British boys (and one kind of gross Italian guy). I went out drinking, even though I wasn't yet 21. I went to museums, monuments, castles, and saw things like the room where Shakespeare was born, Jane Austen's grave, and Elizabeth I's effigy. My smile came back. I ate, drank, and breathed England...and I fell in love.

I vowed to go back...and five years later, I did.

My love affair began on January 11, 1999. It's not as romantic as Paris, or as crazy and jovial as Rome. But oh, is it fabulous. It's familiar. It's old, it's new, it's wonderful.

I left London sad, depressed, a shell of the Meg I'd been a few months prior. My parents worried about me that fall semester. When they saw me again in April, I was a different girl. I was happy again, I was living.

I've never spoken to Sandy, Ron or Bianca again. Rhonda and I renewed our friendship via Facebook, and that's been nice. People grow, people move on from past hurts.

Wow--I guess this turned into a post all about London Semester. : P  Reliving the memories as I take them from disintegrating old albums and put them in a newer, better album has had me thinking a lot about how my life has progressed ever since taking that particular fork in the road. Without London Semester, I probably never would have moved to England in 2004. Would The Wild and Absolutely True Adventures of Meg exist then? Who knows? Maybe, but probably not in its current form. I would have grown up at some point...but I'm not sure that I would be the Megan I am--a Megan I like, actually--without that hellish fall semester and the incredible spring semester in England.

Anyway, tomorrow I head up to Mom and Dad's for a few days to celebrate my birthday. This year is low-key. I'll run, work on my scrapbook, cuddle my cats, and have cake (and eat it, too). I'm negotiating a day trip for Friday or Saturday (Mom says, "We'll do it!" and Dad says, "Sure, let's see how the schedule looks..." I figure I'll talk him into it pretty easily!). Don't know where, yet.

I'll stop rambling now. It's about time to sign off and get ready for bed. I need to start packing!