I totally missed it. The day came and went like any other day in the history of forgotten days. August 3rd; my one year anniversary of moving to England. I missed my own anniversary. That's just silly. This, I suppose, is the part where I'm meant to talk about all the things I've done this year and how amazing it's all been and how much I've changed. Don't get me wrong, it has been amazing, full of tea drinking, writing, traveling, writing, friend-making, and writing. I guess I could reflect on all the things I've learned (after all, that's what anniversary blogs are all about, right? Reflecting), like how to plan trips cross country for less than £20, when to use the pluperfect tense and when to kill it, how to tap dance a little, how to get a job (tell them your amazing), how to write professional sounding e-mails in order to get what I want, how to properly house hunt and deal with incompetent people (I think I knew how to do that before actually).
And I have changed a bit, I think I'm a little less shy (the words think and little being the key words there), I really like the taste of coffee and not just the smell, I've recently started liking the taste of beer (only the cheap stuff) but still don't know (or care) anything about it, I like to dance, but only when it's dark enough and I no longer trust humanity to give me a break and try, for once, to not steal all my possessions. You should see me chaining up my bike all over town; I'm convinced every time that it won't be there when I get back. I could now lead a fantastic, nerd's tour of Oxford where a year ago I'd have paid money to go on such a thing, if one existed. However, as I sit here, making myself sick by trying to write this on a bus home from London, it is nauseatingly clear to me that I'm the same person I was August 3rd, 2010. Car sick; that's me. Constantly car sick.
Rose and I moved into our new house today, but we will be moving most of our stuff tomorrow. Our other new housemate, Isa, was there as well, and we all picked our rooms and checked it all out. It's a great little place, great location, weird back yard, homey. I got the second biggest room because Isa didn't want to live on the ground floor, which is awesome. Rose and I lovingly named our living room the Panic Room because, for some reason, it has two substantial locks on the door, but only from the inside. We want to get a Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy poster for the mantel, you know, the ones that say DON'T PANIC with the yellow smiley face. We'll see if Alisha and Isa go for it.
The house also has an outhouse in the shed (wwhhaatt?), a heavy-duty A frame chalkboard sign clearly stolen from a pizza place, weeds in the back yard instead of grass, and a blue kitchen. Also, no furniture. Isa's room has nothing in it at all, and my room needs a mattress. All of this should be coming this week (but really should have been there already), so hopefully by next week we will be living in our fully functional house.
I'm going backward here. Last week I had a lovely time visiting Margarette in Ramsgate, this time on the hottest day of the year instead of the coldest when I visited in December. It's a completely different place in the summer, absolutely beautiful.
But now I'm back in Oxford for, hopefully, the next few months. I've picked up more hours at work and I really need to finish my final project. Time's a wastin'.
Everyone go do yourselves a favor and remind yourselves of how much you love Simon and Garfunkel.
Alright, I'm going to go braid Rose's hair. Catch you cat's on the flip side.