Travel Break
London
October 24th, 2006
Approx 12 noon.

I drink beer now, with my meals. Three months ago, the idea of beer at 12 in the monrning would make me sick.
This will end when I leave Europe,but it worries me.It worries me that I have changed. What I don't realise is that not all change is constant. But even tmporary change unnerves me. I lied when I said I'm not resistant to change anymore. It's easy to be practical about this though. I'm in a place I don't want to be in, spending money I don't want to spend, worrying about finances loans blah blah blah.

Seems like an awfully long time. Beer, you stretch time out much longer.(Stupid Smiley)

Thoughts of suicide. Do all these people need to die? Am I being pretentious? Do I really care? No, I do really care.I do. For every single person that died in vain. I do. I care.

On the way to Paris, in the bus.
November 16th, 2007
9:30 a.m

The clouds begin at the horizon and end far behind my head. I am happiest on the road when the miles stretch before me. I'd love to be a touring artist. On the road singing songs that I write.
I cannot breathe in Europe. The weight of the past combined with the weight of the future crushes you. France is dotted with grave yards and memorials. After the first six, you lose all revrance. They just become markers for undreds of unknown lives that died in a futile endeavour.
My thoughts ramble to fast to be recorded. I scramble at a few random ones in the hope of saving something from this fleeting life. I am not resistant to change anymore. I don't welcome it, but I don't resist it anymore. It's becasue I am one of them. Home is not a physical place. IT's in your head The more mobile home remains, the lesser the pain. The lesser the longing and lord knows we could do with a little less longing in our lives.
Priorities hange with time. Time, does not heal woulds, it just inflicts new ones so that older ones seem a lot less painfull.
Music in my ears determine what happens inside my head. Signs in French whiz past us as we press onto Paris. France is flat. The horizon is below eye level.
Last night I hated to leave the warmth of the covers. I stumbled out anyway, packed and walked downstairs.
It's a winding road, you don't know where it goes, but you're a driver and it's upto you to either crash and burn at the next bend or skid safely to the next one.

Today
December 17th, 2006
Sunday
12.30 p.m.

Billy Joel, Scenes from an Italian Restaurent and Piano Man.
I fold away pieces of my life and tuck them into my suitcase. My books look forelornly at me, knowing they will be abndoned for a dress or a sweater becasue of the weight limit that Virgin Atlantic lumped me with.
I smile silently through my tears.
Wroxton Fall Class of 2006
I shall always remember. I shall never forget.