Ambivalence, Thy Name Is Theresa

Okay, I'll admit it: I'm a nerd. Scrapbooking is not merely a hobby, it's a homework assignment. Not having done a scrapbook for my time in London last year (or my senior year of college, when it comes to it) has been weighing heavily on me for months. All the materials sat for ages on a closet shelf, waiting patiently for me to begin. And so I finally have.

And what I've realised tonight is why it's taken me so long. I didn't want to relive the memories.

In putting together a record of my life in Europe, I'm once again struck by how good it was. Here I was, jetting off to Glasgow in November, shortly after having gone to the taping of a famous British TV show--and that was the night before attending a ball at my friends Tom and James's private club. I know, I know: I hated my job, had hardly any friends, and spent most evenings chatting online in front of the telly.

Yet it still rankles that my friend Allison (the one in Glasgow) has the life I dream about: a job she likes and an English boyfriend who enjoys travelling with her. What did Allison and Ben do recently? Why, they went to Lindisfarne (yes, home of the eponymous Gospels), to Durham (familiar to those Billy Elliot fans out there), to Housesteads on Hadrian's Wall (where I went almost three years ago now on my Easter hols).

Where do I go? Why, this weekend to historical Champaign, baby! And the suburb of La Grange! Not to be confused with the suburb of Itasca where I'm going next week! Sorry--I know I'm being sarcastic. It's just no matter how "cool" my life is in Chicago, it still revolves around this one bar I went to, or this skyscraper I had a view from. Whoop de frickin' do.


Walking down LaSalle Street this afternoon--the Wall Street of Chicago--I was struck by how mundane it was. Sure, skyscrapers towered over me left and right, and it was kind of pretty and everything in the sunshine. But there is a lack of exoticism in Chicago, and indeed, all Midwestern cities. And dare I say, all American cities as well. Hell, Canadian ones, too, no doubt. Montreal excepted.

So there we have it, folks. I'm envious of my past life, and of those of my friends who've managed to slip free of the shackles of America. I think about my friend who's currently learning Spanish in Guatemala, with plans to move to Nicaragua or El Salvador--this after living in Montreal for a year as a bicycle courier. And it makes me want to... well, be brave. Move somewhere again.

But I won't. I have an apartment, a cell phone, a credit card bill. Shoes to buy; drinks to buy. Life will continue on apace, and I'll whine a bit now and then to you guys, and casually drop into conversations how once, a long time ago, I lived abroad. And soon, life will continue its normal pace, and I'll think how great it is that I get a free makeover at Neiman Marcus, and how interesting that an old college friend now works with my French friend in the 'burbs. Weddings and vacations will start up, and I'll find myself six months in the future. With nothing to show for it.

G'night.