Spring in London

I'm afraid this will be a rather disjointed entry, as I'm waiting for my friend Evan to come over and then we're going to decide on Something To Do. I'll tell you what I want to do- the weather today, and the lighting feels exactly like coming home to London after spring break two years ago. I want to grab a soccer ball and a few beers and Alex and Georgia and walk around London for hours in the early dark and then play soccer with the foxes. That is exactly what I'd like to do. Maybe I'll eat a Cadbury bar in honor of the glory days. If not in England, then it definitely feels like spring, and Alex and I should be eating Mint-Oreo Blizzards. Well, I should be eating one. Alex would prefer a Reese's Blizzard.
I started research earlier this week, and now I'm reading Katherine Mansfield's personal letters. Not only do I feel like a big voyeur, but she's such a dramatic letter writer and her style is infectious. You'll have to excuse me if I get a little carried away. She also drinks hot milk a lot before bed, which makes me think of my grandmother. A little weird, because nothing about Mansfield's carpe diem lifestyle makes me think of Gram, save the hot milk.
I'm back from hanging out with Evan. I think he really just wanted to chat for a bit, so we took a walk to the flat he'll be moving into, which is right down the street from my house. I was really hoping for more walking, but he hadn't eaten dinner, and if I stayed out I would've ended up buying french fries or something instead of eating my leftover ratatouille like a good vegetarian, so here am I, staring at a bowl of leftover reds and greens and white rice. It's like a smushed-up Christmas tree.
I was thinking today about Wellington as I sat in the library (One day I'll post a picture from my favorite seat, which has a view of the whole city and coast line- how could you sit there and not think of Wellington?) and I thought: it still doesn't feel like I'm in another country. I mean, I know that I'm not home, I just feel like I'm in some weird part of California or something. Or maybe Oregon. The accents and convenient stores are really the only signifiers that I'm on the other half of the world. Maybe I need to get out of Wellington. I think I might meet Alex in Auckland when his plane lands next month and we'll take a train back here together. I can't get too comfortable, you know. Maybe it's just that I was sick all last weekend, so I haven't really been anywhere except to school and the apartment all week. Oh, and the grocery store.
It's funny, at college I used to HATE the kids above me for playing loud music, but since I know this kid, it really doesn't bother me. Maybe I should've made friends with those weirdos upstairs. Probably would've saved me some trauma. Although I'm pretty sure the one was a furry. Positive, actually.
Across the street from me is a yoga studio in a big brick building with apartments on top. In the apartment directly across from mine live a little retired couple with an herb garden on their balcony. Their kitchen opens up directly onto the little space, and they take turns walking back and forth and cutting fresh herbs for their dinner. When it's nice out, they sit by their herbs and eat and drink wine. One day I'd like to be a retired couple living above a yoga studio, with an herb garden on my balcony.
But for now, I'm eating leftover ratatouille on a late summer night that feels like early spring, in a noisy apartment, with metal in the background.