Inevitabilities

          It's already getting to be time to start thinking about Coe and home in practical terms. I have to start thinking about where I'm going to live, if I'll have a single or a double. Hours I want to work in the Writing Center. I've been offered a job teaching ballet to first graders in Cedar Rapids. I don't know if I'm going to take it - it's been so long since I've been immersed in that world. Even the language has gotten away from me. Plie. Jete. Pirouette. Arabesque. Tourjette. Glissade. Words that sound like cream puffs and expensive pastries. It's the first time I've been confronted with anything that even remotely resembles real life. It's a reminder of things I'll have to think about when I get back, when I return from this term abroad.
          I have to think about things I'm going to do when I get home. It's weird picturing myself moving through my house, actually sitting at the piano bench with it's rough, waffle-weave upholstery. Actually eating at a table. Actually lying in my bed with the mobile on my ceiling spinning slowly overhead.
          I'm glad to be coming home for the Christmas season. If I'd have come back in time for summer, I think I couldn't do it. I think it would be too hard to leave behind the friends I've made, to leave the city, to sink back into a strangely unfamiliar life. But coming home for Christmas, to crass commercialism, to a treeful of ornaments, to Bing Crosby on the radio, to hellish Christmas shopping, I have something comfortable and familiar and immediately nostalgic to wrap myself in. Christmas doesn't change much from year to year. And there will be the seventh annual Caroling for Cans, the traditional New Year's Eve party, to look forward to.


          My friends and I went ice skating at Somerset House. It'd been raining, and was raining when we were walking to Somerset House, actually. But once we got there, even though it was still dark and cloudy, it had let up. It was only 4:00, but it was so dark that it felt like 7:00 - the sun sets at 3:30 around here. The ice was really slick because of the rain, and I fell down twice, once within two seconds of getting on the ice. Really graceful, I know. I got the hang of it again pretty quickly, though the lights around the rink kept changing color. It was very pretty, but a little disconcerting - sometimes the ice was lit by plain white lights, and then everything would go rosy, then purple, and then blue. I was fine except when the lights were blue - it made me feel like I was going to fall over.          It was all very picturesque and lovely, string lights shining and a large tree decked out in glittering snowflakes and garlands. There were one or two guys there who kept zooming around, clearly showing off, as though being a jerk was a good way to get a girl or something. Other than that, it was nice seeing people slowly gliding along, and the few small, almost obnoxious kids who kept falling over. I want to go ice skating when I get home. It's so much fun! But it has to be outdoors - indoor rinks like Rinkside just don't cut it. You've got to be cold and red-cheeked and damp and bruised all over and ready for hot chocolate when you're done skating, otherwise you've missed something.(photos by Brittany Jackson)

          Things around here are wrapping up, too. My essays are nearing completion, responsibilities are lifting one by one, while yet others of another breed are descending. I'm suddenly having to think about what I'm going to leave behind, about fitting things into suitcases, figuring out when to leave for Heathrow. It's disheartening. I have two weeks left. It's like a whisper that won't stop. We have two weeks left. Two weeks.
          It's a little heartbreaking. It's ridiculous. The friends I've made here - it's weird when I don't see them for more than a day. I can get lonely if I'm online and they aren't, even though they're a hallway or courtyard away.
          I've spent basically every day of the last three months with them, with Brittany and Nick and Gonzo. It'll be a really strange gap in my life to not have them constantly around - I still can't really get my head around it, the realization that I won't just walk next door to watch a movie with the three of them every night. That we won't walk to the New Cross Gate station, or Chick Chicken, or go for chips with burger sauce again. We won't squash onto a crowded train at the Canada Water station or dash up an elevator at Waterloo. I know I'm being sentimental. But you can't paint someone's face green, you can't have a slumber party with dark chocolate and McVities, you can't dash screeching and laughing breathlessly through torrential rain, without letting yourself become attached. There have been picnics, and parks, and impromptu photoshoots. We've gotten up before dawn to try for theatre tickets, laughed far into the night together, spent the hours between times exploring the city, seeing shows, cooking and eating together. It's started to feel normal. It's starting to feel like this is how it goes.

          I'm trying to console myself with things I'll have to look forward to at home. Christmas and New Year's, as mentioned above. Friends. Family. Playing Scrabble or putting together a puzzle by the light of the Christmas tree. Borders. Getting my license (which I'm resolved to do - enough is enough). Having a fully stocked kitchen at my disposal. Having my sewing machine. My piano. My guitar. Apple cider. And eggnog. I'm really looking forward to eggnog. Oooh, and ice cubes, in vast amounts, readily available. I missed ice. I'll be visiting Jenna, and Heather might come to visit me. Going to Panera with Marie. Working out at Curves. Snow. Winter in the Midwest. All good, all things I'm excited for, all things that I've missed.

          So why, then, this weight in the middle of my ribcage? It's like there's salt water in the bottom of my lungs.

          So savor the time left. I keep shaking my head, throwing my hair out of my eyes. Don't sully today with inevitabilities. The sun is out. There's time yet. Make the most of what you've got.