Dear Diary,
Seattle is gorgeous today, but I have the exact same empty-dead-verge of tears feeling that i have had after coming home from every great trip in my life. it all started when i was six and had to return home from my first two nights at camp sealth. i knew that things would never be the same. and they weren't. the heartbreak of leaving is hard, but it's for the best. the sad feeling was really bad after exeter summer school junior year... i still haven't quite recovered from that one.
They showed bridget jones edge of reason on the plane from ny to seattle, and i just wanted to tell everyone around me, "LOOK! they're walking by the tower of london! I was there! on saturday!" but of course they don't care. that was probably the worst flight ever, besides the killer movie. maybe it had something to do with me spending the entire night before attempting to sleep on a tiny bench in one of those pay phone cubbys at JFK. it was really cold and i couldn't get comfortable, believe it or not. I've been trying to think if i've ever had a night worse than that one. I don't think i have. that says something about my tame lifestyle. I can't say i had ever had to spend an entire night alone in a stainless steel phone cubicle in new york before. i guess you could consider me pampered.
I think i need to watch napolean dynamite to get my spirits up about the USA again. People here aren't as polite and they do not stand to the right on escalators. There's just so much about the UK that is lovely or at least novel. for instance all of these nice words that i compiled out of my UK edition of Cosmopolitan.
daft bugger heaps cheers mucked around trainers mate dodgy.
now if only my meticulous research applied to something useful.
Love,
Diana