post tempest

So I owe you all an epilogue... to the day I was sending "goodbye - have a nice flight" emails to Kasey that had her thinking I was going to end up floating in the Thames rather than at the Fed-Ex office when all was said and done.

Well, I made it. Miraculously...truly miraculously... since I have no idea how I figured it out, but I did... I finally got the DVD to burn. I stumbled out of my warehouse and onto the DLR... at last emerging in Mayfair - looking like a slumrat compared to all the coiffed business beauties walking around me.

With the help of a hairdresser (who, no doubt, wanted me out of his posh shop) I found Kinkos/Fed-Ex... and the lovely people there seemed to take it all in stride... they're obviously accustomed to dealing with frazzled sleep-deprived Americans who treat their streamlined office with its "next day" guarantees like some kind of Mecca-sanctuary.

I put the DVD into an envelope. I marked it "for cultural use" and "of no commercial value" (ha), then kissed it goodbye.

Could all that have happened within a matter of hours? From "I'm never going to leave this horrendous industrial building" to "thank you kindly dear Fed-Ex man for taking my large sum of money and promising me my parcel will make it to Paris in time"? Crazy.

And afterwards, despite my sleepless exhaustion, I decided to walk back to my apartment. It was an unusally warm and beautifully pleasant day in London. I strolled through St. James Park, which was tingling and vibrant with the life of spring grass and blooming flowers, and then past Buckingham Palace, where I watched tourists taking souvenir pics as proof that once - once - they had seen this royal residence that I live in walking distance from...

With some trepidation, I arrived at my building, only to find myself immediately holding the door open for somebody who was serendipitously leaving (and who seemed as grateful for my chivalrous gesture as I was for their exit). I retrieved the keys Kasey had left me from my flat's mail slot. Then I rode the elevator upstairs and let myself into my little space, where I looked out over all the roof tops and an ancient church's steeple from my room's balcony and sighed relief.

What a fuss. What a wonderful fuss... for something that worked out in the end... as it always tends to... Can you see forever on a clear day? Probably not, but if the clear day follows a storm, you can certainly sense, touch, breathe, something like bliss.

I've been meaning to post a song from the Australian artist, Lenka, ever since the Sundance Film Festival, when I saw her at the Music Cafe. For some reason, it seems appropriate to attach one to this post. This particular song is called The Show and, besides the hoppy melody, the lyric "it's a joke, nobody knows, they've got a ticket to the show" strikes a major chord with me. But my favourite part is when she sings "I want my money back..." - referring to life, of course. Ha. As if - no? But sometimes, don't we all...?


(I pre-apologise for the lame 'sing-a-long' version of this... it's the only youtube link they will let me play here in the UK... feel free to look up the actual video if you're in the States!)

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