Eight Days and Counting

I have just packed my second suitcase and how I want everything to be neatly packed in cowhide trunks with manila placards and hatboxes. Instead, well, there is only one leather case and that was a carboot sale find in need of great repair.  I am miserable. Everytime I come home, it's silly, but I fight back tears as I'm so ready to leave now all my flatmates are gone. That and I resprained my wrist doing cartwheels in Bristo Square. We had just come from Banshees at the sky was lightening, and oh, it was invigorating and I just wanted to run up Athur's Seat, but instead, I did cartwheels and ran home. Very silly of me.

Let's see... today, I helped Lisa paint her flat. Ran across a Scottish Tin Tin in Omni Furnishings.  Read a hilarious passage about God performing a miracle on a bad brew made beautiful, like the Wedding at Cana.  Love me some ginger beer and Jeremiah Weed came highly recommended on both sides of the pond: lovely. And then I've been climbing Arthur's Seat nearly every day this past week. I saw a red hen and a baby bunny and the sun set.

Springsteen was recently in Glasgow, and man, do I wish I could have gone.  That'll be one of the other good ol' life ambitions. I don't think I appreciated him until I moved out of America and he makes me love home.

Today was my second to last day to nanny and it was one of the best days ever. Can't remember the last time I laughed so hard. But now, I'm determined to listen to music and pack up my room until everything is in boxes or bags.  Tomorrow, Fran returns from the West Highland Way and I'm rather excited.  Monday he graduates. After Tuesday I just want to go somewhere: maybe grab a train and go to Wimbledon.  Friday is the grad ball and excited is an understatement. There is going to be a CELIDH. Sunday next we'll be off to the Lake District for some camping and then to Southampton. Is it terrible to say that living out of suitcase feels more normal somehow? I'm excited.