Cry me a river

“A little voice inside my head said, "Don't look back. You can never look back." – Don Henley

Well friends and family, I crossed the pond safely, but there were certainly some bumps in the road. First was the flight delay. Originally I was supposed to leave at 5:30 PM. Then for some unknown reason (mechanical something or other) the flight was changed to 9:30 PM.

Airlines are a lot like weathermen: they don’t necessarily have to be right, ever, but as long as they pretend they know what the plan is, it’s all good. Don't worry about being accurate, a prediction about the year the plane will take off will do just fine.

But worse than the delay were the massive amounts of tears I shed yesterday upon my departure. My tear ducts did not know what was going on. Like the rest of my body, they do not like to be over exerted in any way, shape or form. And they certainly weren’t pleased when I made them work overtime yesterday. My eyes hurt now so I assume they've up and gone on strike.

I cried when Meredith left, then when Jess left, then I had nervous breakdown at the airport as I said goodbye to my dad, my smom (= step mom) and my brother. As I was waiting to go through security, tears running down my face, a strange Polish man began rubbing my back telling me it was OK, he understood how hard it was to leave your family.

I was mildly creeped out, but I won’t say it wasn’t nice.

I cry all the way to my gate as strangers gawk at me. I finally sit down and wait. And wait. The flight was already delayed for four hours and then another hour. Then we finally get to board. A friendly, good looking British guy named Blake begins talking to me and I am already imagining out future together: a night in a darkly lit West end pub, we’ve both had a few too many Boddingtons, he whispers something mischievous into my ear…

Then he tells me he’s moving to Canada. I feel like someone just popped my fantasy dream bubble.

Well, forget you.

After that botched plan, I hope to sit next to some fantastically handsome and interesting man (and there were a boat load) on the plane (like that army dude Franca got drunk with on her flight over. Lucky girl.) Unfortunately my seatmate is a chubby freckled Scot who has clearly purchased every travel accoutrement from duty free: the neck pillow, the sleeping mask, the body blanket, etc., and clearly will not be speaking to me for the duration of the flight. She’d passed out within two seconds of me taking my window seat. Which I later realize is certainly for the best.

Before we take off, some old woman needs to be escorted off the plane and have her luggage removed. I don’t mean to sound callous but old people really do ruin everything. They should have a geriatric airline that just circles the runway and then says ‘Welcome back!’ Conning their elderly passengers into thinking they’ve just vacationed in West Palm Beach for two weeks. Seriously, they’d totally buy it.

Anyway before I left home, my brother gave me a present and a thick ass envelope that unfortunately, was not filled with wads of British cash. It was in fact, filled with a four-page hand written letter, which I was instructed only to read when I was up in the air.

Bad, bad, terrible idea.

I didn’t get through the first line of this thing before I started BAWLING like a baby. My seatmate, comatose in her leopard print neck pillow, did not seem to notice. But the seatmate to her right certainly did and offered me tissues, probably after watching me wipe my nose on my sweater for the thousandth time while trying not to make too many awful crying noises.

After that little breakdown, and feeling completely wiped out, I downed two chlorazepam and chased them with three shitty bottles of Australian Chardonnay. I was out like a light until I landed in Gatwick.

Five hours later, after a nap and a delicious meal, I am writing this blog, sitting in a quaint little house in a small village called Pirton about an hour outside London. I’ll be hitting up the local pub tonight with my godfather.

Anyway friends, I am exhausted and in need of a good British pint. I shall write tomorrow with more stories (and pictures, thanks to my sweet new camera ;) Thanks J & P)

Keep checking in! I still miss you all,

Love forever,

Patsy xo