hurrah

Have just drunkenly dashed off what may someday soon pass as a poem!

we put on ray charles

There was this guy I was seeing for a while during the spring of last year, Will. He treated me like dirt most of the time, but no matter how often he kicked me out of bed at 6 am, I kept coming back, to smoke cigarettes and drink beer and listen to him play Ryan Adams songs for me on the guitar. He made me want one of those rock-n-roll, all in, all out, roller coaster relationships. Obviously, he failed. (He won my own, personal, Asshole of the Year award for his behavior.)
The point of this story, though, is that this whole time in Scotland, feels like that tumultuous, up and down, makes your heart sing and your stomach sick relationship. And I'm loving it. Even when I feel completely alone, I'm grounded. I'm healthy (1 year, 5 months, 3 days), I'm making friends and getting better at writing history. I wish there was a way for me to stay.

the ticklish spot

I went down to Edinburgh on Friday night, drank a lot of Jack, and had the most fantastic row with Mr D. I don't even remember what it was about, but he just sort of let me yell at him for a while, and then I slept on the couch. In the morning, I crawled back into bed with him and neither of us could remember what I'd been upset about, so we just laughed. He's coming up for Thanksgiving with my parents. I'm a little nervous, I will admit.

It's Raisin Weekend (and I'm still finishing a paper)! In about five hours, I will be drunk.

Also, I woke up to this:

It's my first non-Calfornia snow!

could have used a happy ending

Just cried my way through the last 20 pages of Gone with the Wind.
How did I not remember that it ended like that?

soon, i promise

Have I told you about the cafe? I found my spot, where I sit for hours and do my work. They know me now, what I order, that I stay for five six seven hours at a time. And I get work done. The instant I walk into this cafe, the rest of my life ceases to exist, and it's wonderful. I'm doing history there, writing and creating. Things are good, I think. Things are looking up.
I'm thinking about my writing more, which is better than avoiding thinking about it because I feel guilty. The next step, as RNG says, is to apply butt to chair.
Soon, I promise.

from asofterworld.com

So, I get all of these grand ideas about what I want to write about--school, papers I've written, stories I've started, how my heart continues to misbehave, the best foods to eat while walking around Munich, books I've read lately, but the truth is, the sun goes down at 4:30 here, and by ten, all I want to do is get high and listen to music. The truth is I'd rather be falling asleep in Edinburgh, crushed up on a couch, watching the West Wing, being fed Dairy Milk.

And after all of that complaining, I'm so happy to be back in Scotland, and very little can beat curry and Newcastle Brown in bed while reading.