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.