Festival Newspaper!

The Fringe Festival was an excellent way to close-parenthet my trip. I used to work in theatre, but having since moved on to mostly live events, I really haven't seen too many plays. But I saw more theatre in two days than I had in the past two years! Only half of it was good, a quarter of it was pretty bad, and a quarter alright.
The best part however, occurred on my last day, when I heard that vaguely familiar cry of hawked festival wares, in this case: "Festival Newspaper!" Though not in an Irish accent, nor even what would have been most likely: Scottish. Some indistinguishable accent... Wishing I could report it was in a Danish accent because that would be so circular and complete, but either way, my uncontrollable giggling caused more than a few to give me suspicious looks and a wide berth. Well, damn them, but it was a very fitting end to my trip.

Also, had my last lunch with Leonard for probably quite a long while. Well, part of me hopes it is indeed a long while, because that means he will settle nicely in Scotland, and that is what he wants. But then the rest of me, the selfish me, wishes he would just move back to LA. But I guess if he was to come back to the States, Los Angeles isn't his first choice. Another goodbye, one in the midst of a long string of goodbyes...


Inevitably though, the end drew nigh, and I had to make my way to the train station. And maybe I'm just making out like I'm special (of course I am!) but, though it was fair weather the whole time I was in Scotland, on the last day the skies opened up and poured down. So I reckon it was Edinburgh weeping at my departure. Of course. Then again, I might as well have been crying too, for having to walk roughly 2 hours in the rain, with a couple trips back and forth from Leonard's.
And then a late, as well as seemingly interminable train ride that lasted 5:10 rather than the scheduled 4:44! Damn you Brit/ScotRail!! Those lost 45 minutes actually cost me my previously made plans. I had meant to go over to Matt's for a quick hello and goodbye, before picking up my stuff and heading out to meet Alex by 11 for a night out. However, with that much lost time, there was no way I would be able to do both. Matt was great about it too, and offered to drive my stuff to me, and just let me run off to meet up with Alex.
But... well, it's a bit rude to say hey, nice knowing you and thanks for letting me leave my stuff here, but I'm going to fuck off to a club now, and not see you again for ages without a really proper decent goodbye. Not that he wasn't invited to come along, but "not on a school night." But then again, that meant not seeing Alex at all, since I was leaving the following morning.
So, after mentally running around like a beheaded chicken for the better part of an hour (how does one do anything mentally whilst beheaded? I don't know, but that's what happened ;), having my phone die on me so I couldn't talk to either Matt or Al about what to do, I finally just decided to go to Matt's, because Al has plans to come to LA sometime soon.

And then I arrived at the train station, with my phone still dead. So I somehow persuaded one of the Tube guards to loan me use of his phone, swapped sim cards to text Matt and Al, to find... even with batteries, phones don't work underground. I must have talked to the nicest security guard ever though, because he walked with me outside, so I could finish my texts and calls.

So Matt picked me up, and we spent a lovely evening in hello, and a sad and awkwardly silent morning cabride in goodbye.


Then a long transit: Tube ride (I hate Heathrow!), airport, airplane, over 5,000 statute miles travelled, but the emotional distance is measureable only in time. How long do you think it will take before home feels like home again?

Yes, Los Angeles is 'home,' but I've forgotten that. All these places are no longer familiar; I don't feel like I belong here. It feels like some other transitory stage, this stop on the way to my next one. Yes, I missed people, I missed good food, I missed the sun. But... the waiting room is more poignant than the actual event. If I could have just stayed in that limbo a little longer, savoured the waiting, had more proper goodbyes...
I know, whinge, whinge: complaining I wanted to go home during Scandinavia, and then coming home to wish I were still out there in the wild.
But now I still miss people - and this time it's people I won't necessarily see again, unlike the people rather permanantly stationed here. And I don't know why I thought I'd be able to do nothing, worry about nothing when I got home, but certainly compared to Edin and London, I've much more to worry about: a job, a degree, a new life?!

But here I am: Welcome back to the real world, Pshazzah...