I'm home. I feel good about that.

These are just a few of the good humans that make home so wonderful. I loved London, but none of these wonderful people were there. Oh how I missed them. But, I'm missing them no longer. We're all here in the Christmas snow together.

Cheers.

They say cheers to mean goodbye, thank you, excuse me, and anything else they want it to mean.

So, dear London, to you I say cheers.

Goodbye for now. I'm leaving on a jet plane and I don't know when I'll be back again.

Thank you. For gelato, for chocolate, for clothes, for great art, for ever-green parks, for shows. Thank you for the memories-- like the time I face-planted walking down Queensway in high heels. And the time I sketched in front of Cezanne's Old Woman With A Rosary. Thank you for the girls that I lived with in the famous room one, and for the princesses we helped each other become. Thank you for the good food. Thank you for being so, so, so lovely.

Excuse me for my silly Americaness that seemed to stand out in your classy city-- you were nice to make me feel at home regardless. In fact, sometimes you even seemed to like the American in me that was so swept up in your charm.

And like the English say cheers to mean whatever they want it to mean, I want my cheers to mean hooray. Hooray for you. Hooray for your wonderfulness. Hooray for London.

Cheers.

Done. All Done.

With finals that is.

I'm taking a deep breath.

You ask how I did?

Why do you have to ask such joy-crushing questions?

I'm in London. And I'm playing. All. The. Time.

And for these tests, I would've had to study. All. The. Time.

I'm just done.

And I'm relieved.

In for 10. Out for 10. Whew. It's over.

Last Thursday in London

I was seventeen. I had come to London in order to fulfill my life-long dream of going to England. My sister and I had just spent two blissful weeks in London and as the two of us took the express train from central London out to the airport at the end of our adventure, I teared up a bit. My sister rolled her eyes as I stared sentimentally out the window. I didn't want to leave the city; London had lived up to all of my dreams and expectations and I had become rather attached to the city in such a short time. Leaving London was a rather poignant moment that one October so long ago. Truth is, it was a fairly typical Laura-being-dramatic moment.

Now. Take those two weeks in London when I was seventeen and add the fact I have a permanent address in London this time around. Subtract all the awkward American tourist mistakes that happen when you visit London for only a short time. Multiply it by 16 weeks in the city. Add the behind-the-counter lady at Gelato Mio who recognizes my face. Subtract all my pictures that were lost in the Great Computer Crash of 2008. Take all of this to the 100th power just because I love this city that much. What do you get?

A BIG NUMBER. Now, do you know what this big number represents? The amount of pain my soul is in.

Last time I left, it became a tragedy on the train ride out of the city. This time, every "last" in the city is traumatic. This whole week has been one, big, long, typical Laura-being-dramatic episode. I did my last load of laundry in London one week ago. I walked across Hyde Park for the last time on Sunday. I had my last Percy Pig yesterday. I sang Joy to the World on top of a chair while opening the 10th day on an advent calendar for the first and last time in London. And today is my last Thursday in London...

Like I said, my soul is in a lot of pain. But, on the bright side, I have hopes of a fairly effective painkiller: one dosage of holiday celebrating with my family in a cozy house in Utah one week from now.

Job, I can symphathize. I've lost everything too.

My computer abandoned ship, moved on to the next life, made the ultimate sacrifice-- and I'm going to stop saying it nicely now-- MY COMPUTER IS DEAD. Exploded. Crashed. Broken. Empty. Gone forever. I just couldn't convince it to stay alive for me. When my computer decided that it had nothing left to live for, there was nothing more I could do for it. It had decided that life was pointless and it saw self destruction as its only outlet. No matter how much I told my computer that I needed it desperately-- I mean, I have a Humanities paper due tomorrow for crying out loud!-- it didn't believe me. I gave it hugs, kisses, rub-downs, inspirational words of encouragement... but to no avail. I even offered to take it to counseling. Therapy. Rehab. Anything that would help it to see the value and beauty in life. And then it self destructed despite all the help and love I offered. By taking its own life, it destroyed mine. I'd do anything to have it back.

Now, if you would please stop wherever you are and hold a moment of silence for my computer. A long moment of silence. This is a very serious tragedy.

I've never been able to understand how devastated Job must have felt when he lost his family, his health, his wealth, his everything. Well, now, I know what it is like. And heck, I'm worse off than Job; at least he didn't lose all his digital images.