If you watched Barney, chances are you remember that little ditty.
It’s no secret (at least to those who know me well) that I’m not a big fan of litter. I’m not really sure when it happened, but at some point in my life I started to get mad when I saw people littering. Whenever I read Voyager by Diana Gabaldon (there’s a point to this story segue, stick with me. And this is a slight spoiler if you haven’t read this), there was a part where Claire has gone back in time and takes a break to eat a sandwich she brought with her from present day. She had wrapped it in plastic, and after finishing her sandwich, decides to nonchalantly throw the plastic down, hoping no one notices this strange anachronistic item. Rather than worry on her being found out for her out of time plastic item, I was mad she just threw it out. Granted, it’s not like they had super advanced waste removal in 18th century Scotland. It’s the principle of the matter.
Last year my New Years resolution (I actually made one, which is rare for me) was to lower my carbon footprint. I wanted to try and reduce the amount of plastic and paper I used, I tried to be more cognizant of the amount of water I ran in the sink when doing dishes or washing my face. Sadly, since I’ve been in London that has all but flown out the window. All I tend to do anymore is watch my use of water. I’ve even gone back to *gasp* drinking bottled water. Not because I think it’s any better than tap (I really don’t give a hoot whether or not I’m drinking pure Scottish spring water), but because I haven’t bought a reusable water bottle since I’ve been here. I should probably get on that.
Regardless, there is a point to this litter ramble. There is litter all over London. ALL OVER. It makes me mental, but I don’t do anything about it because…well…it’s dirty. I guess I could carry around a trash bag and gloves with me, but people already look at me sort of strange. And it would take me even longer to get place to place if I stopped to pick up trash (I HAVE EXCUSES AND THEY ARE SEMI LEGITIMATE – DON’T JUDGE ME!).
Yesterday, though, I was waiting for a walking light to turn green when I felt something tapping at my foot. I looked down to see a lone McDonald’s takeaway cup, knocking into me. I felt like I had to pick it up – it was ASKING me to. Before you think I’m crazy, I am aware London is windy so it isn’t like the cup was alive. But I picked it up and carried it with me until I found a trashcan. All because it begged to be properly disposed of. Now it’s just going to end up partially rotting in a huge pile off in a garbage dump. Cheers.
There was absolutely no point to that whole story except to say I threw away a cup. I mean, if you guys aren’t used to my pointless random stories yet… then there’s no hope for you.
A ton of my favourite book series have new books out this month. It’s making me insane, because I can’t read them. I don’t have time with all my essays/exam.
– But wait, Meg, aren’t you wasting time writing this blog entry right now? – Yes. Shush your mouth. I don’t need your negativity around here.
Anyway. It makes me wish that somehow my job in life could be 1. traveling everywhere and writing about how I’m lost, or 2. listening to a ton of audiobooks/reading books and telling people about them/reviewing them. Can that be a real life job where I can pay bills and everything? That would be nice.
Recently, it was a Bank Holiday weekend here. I have no idea what a Bank Holiday is, except that London pretty much completely shuts down. Except for transportation (thank goodness) and pubs (eh). While walking to the tube from the library, I came across a guy casually standing on the steps outside a pub, looking unseeingly at something in front of him. It took me about 2 seconds to realise this guy was probably going to get sick. Sure enough, I see him slowly press his hand to his mouth, as if thoughtful, and then calmly stroll down the steps to the side of the building. I should have looked away, but didn’t. He proceeded to bend over and upchuck, but it was so quiet. And he did it so nonchalantly no one around him even blinked. Then again, maybe Londoners are just used to this sort of thing. All things considered, he was an extremely polite vomiter. Which is more than I can say for myself. I’m a hacker. You’re welcome for the visual.
I went back and read through my Art of the Body essay. That was a mistake, I am not sure why I did it. I did not read it through carefully before I submitted it, which was a mistake. I wanted so badly to quit picking at it and just get it off my plate. Looking back on the essay, there are several obvious grammatical errors. I even spelled “pudenda” wrong in one case – which is terrible, because that’s part of what my essay was on. I’m antsy to get my grade back. I hope I did decently on it despite all my mistakes. I guess I should put all those thoughts towards my unfinished essays… which I can’t remember anything about.
Side note before I go… I am sitting in my library cafe, enjoying the slight noise of the people around me drowned out by my Disney music (I’m cool and an adult, promise). However, I just looked down and found that I have been exposing myself. I had hung my glasses on my shirt collar, but this shirt is a rather flow-y one. The weight of my glasses brought it right down to mid bra. I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting like this. I hope if anyone noticed, they at least thought good things of the exposure. How sad is it that I hope my embarrassment would lead to someone getting their rocks off rather than disgusting them? Talk about low self esteem. My life, ladies and gents.