Gina: Abroad

Ode to Dad

2006-08-30T07:09:00.000+01:00

Thank you, Dad, for having been such a big part of my life. Thank you for having guided me through my childhood, into my teens, and still today giving me something I can lean on. No, we may not be related, but I'm learning that's not nearly as important as having a deep connection with someone who will provide a soft landing when the launch is scary.

You've been here for me even though I didn't think I needed to check in with you. I was just so hurt by the fact that you never told me about ME. Maybe that's how men and women are different. I would tell my daughter as soon as she was old enough to understand the words that she was adopted and that she was chosen--by me--out of love, but that if she wanted to "find herself" I would support her in that. My father is a coward for not having shared this truth with me sooner.

Of course, that means my mother was a coward too. She never told me either and there goes my theory on gender differences. Ah. So much for that.

Everyone shares what they share when they share it and so what if it hurts everyone around them. We're all just out for our own damn selves. And, on that note, I underscore the fact that I'm glad I finally called Dad and had The Talk with him. He didn't keep my true ME from me because he wanted to hurt me. He did it because there was never really any moment at which telling me meant more than parenting me did.

I thank him for having made that difficult choice.
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Nine Rooms updates every Tuesday - Gina - Nick - Claire - Alan - Joey

Joey Is Smart

2006-08-23T08:29:00.000+01:00

I never thought I'd say that. But he is. Maybe not smart. Maybe wise.

I felt so connected to him when he told me, basically, "You have a choice. Keep suffering or move on. Your decision and yours alone." I went to kiss him with gratitude (no chemical clouding of the emotions, this time) and he put his finger to my lips and said, "Not yet. I'm the last thing you need right now. But... I'm here when I am what you need." I just felt so filled with hope at that point, and I'd been feeling a whole lot of hopelessness up until then.

So, that's nice. And he's right. It's not the time for us to be more than roommates. I'm just so glad to have a friend in him, whatever happens.

Before all of that, back when I was still helpless and hopeless, Nancy and I got together and talked about Sheila, how she's doing with all of this, how Nancy is doing with all of this, how I am doing with all of this. I think I'll sit down with Sheila herself next week or so. I think it would be good for us.

But first I need to talk with Dad. I now realize (thanks, Joey) that this has been painful for him. Heck, it's also been painful for my birth dad, my late birth mom, my birth aunt, my late adoptive mom, everyone. I've been selfishly looking at how painful this discovery has been for me and not really thinking about how much pain has to have been swirling about in this family (all versions) for a quarter-century. What a relief this must be for everyone!

I'm so thrilled to have a shift in my perspective finally. Joey is smart. I'm going to call my dad now. I won't blog again until I've done so. I owe him a really long talk. I'm ready now.
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Nine Rooms updates every Tuesday - Gina - Nick - Claire - Alan - Joey

MIA

2006-08-14T22:42:00.000+01:00

I don't want to be reachable right now. Everyone back home wants to check in on me about the terrorist whatnot and I don't want to be checked on. If I'd had any plans to go back to the states anytime soon, I'd be back-burnering those. I feel homeless. No place is my home at this point.

I did enjoy my visit to Sheila's, but I can't really put into words how it felt. We're equal parts confused and pleased to know one another. At least we both feel that way. Nancy is fun. I think, once my heart and head sync up and I'm okay with knowing I'll never meet my mother, I'll enjoy my friendship with her even more.

Dad, if you're reading my blog this is for you: I GOT YOUR MESSAGES. I will call you when I hate you less for never having told me that you knew who my birth parents were. I could've met my mother before she died if you weren't such a coward.
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Nine Rooms updates every Tuesday - Gina - Nick - Claire - Alan - Joey

Crap.

2006-08-08T05:42:00.000+01:00

I mean, I guess it's not crap. It's something. It's something concrete and that's more than I had when I got here. But it's not good news. I mean, maybe it is semi-good. I don't know. It feels like it sucks. Joey had some perspective but his own odd life just makes mine look normal (and I didn't think that was possible). So, I guess that's okay. I can't talk to anyone else, it seems. I can't even try to talk to anyone else. I just keep crying and going for walks. This just isn't what I expected and... well... I don't know WHAT I expected (and I thought I had braced myself for anything), but it wasn't this.

Dear Gina,

Thank you for writing. Nancy had prepared me that you might do so.

Years ago, when I was Sheila Reynolds, I was seeing a man named David Crawford. We were together for a year and a half and eventually rented a place in Camden, where we planned our lives together (marriage, family, pets). Or so I thought. Being a young woman about the age I was at the time this happened, I'm sure you know that men aren't always in the same state of mind as they would have you believe. Gina, basically David slept with my dear sister, Daphne, and that's where you entered the picture. Really, it's difficult to say who was more horrified out of all of us when the truth finally came out: David for having the affair, my sister for betraying me, or me for having trusted either of them.

David left before you were born. (Well, really, I kicked David out even though that took little persuasion.) Daphne couldn't bring herself to--alone--raise the baby she had created with my boyfriend. I couldn't bring myself to care for the baby my sister had created with the man I now hated. It was complicated. We were young. Perhaps I would make a different choice now. But when you're in your twenties and heartbroken, you don't want memories of the man who stomped on your soul. Certainly, if you have to hide away the photos and love letters, imagine how you feel about the idea of raising a child that is nothing but photos and love letters and looks and sounds and emotions. It wasn't an easy decision.

As you know, you were adopted by the Nelsons. Your wonderful mother and loving father raised you happily in America. By the sound of things, they gave you a better life than we ever could have hoped to provide.

A few years later--after dating around and traveling quite a bit--I reconnected with a very good man (Nancy's father). This, of course, would be Peter Hardwick, a friend from my childhood in Richmond. I had cut all ties with Daphne, but kept in touch with your mother and father. I know you may wonder, then, how it is that they would never tell you about us, but I begged that they agree not to tell you. They honored those wishes (the wishes of a confused yet selfish young woman, I know). I kept in contact with your sweet parents as well as your family lawyer, so that should the worst have happened, I would have taken you back. I would never have wanted anything bad to happen to you, because you had been through enough. I do hope you believe me, that I wanted what was best for you. Still do.

Gina, as hard as this email is to write to you, the hardest of it is still to come. I am so sorry to tell you that your mother died six years ago. She moved up north and had a family of her own there. She married a man named Grimshaw and they lived in Warrington, where they had two boys. But that is truly all I know. You see, Daphne and I hadn't spoken for more than twenty years before she died. We had thought, for the first few years after your adoption, that we would be able to put aside our differences and rebuild our relationship, but it was never to be. We come from a stubborn lot. I'm sure you know this. By the time I learned she had passed on, I was too ashamed to get in touch with her immediate family after the funeral. If I couldn't make contact in twenty years, why bother them now that she had gone? Perhaps you'll want to get in touch with them. I can offer to help set you on the right path to make that happen.

David Crawford may still be alive, but I am not sure where he would be. I know his family came from Norfolk.

I know this is a lot for you to take in all at once, and I feel that I have done the right thing by writing it all out for you now. Since you arrived, Nancy has discovered that I had a sister she never got to meet. You have now learned who your mother was and that I am your aunt and that Nancy is your cousin. I don't regret the truth coming out and you should not be worried about anything anymore. While in the last few weeks we have had to face reality the hard way, a weight has been lifted from our shoulders and love has entered our hearts because we have you, in some small belated way, back in our lives again.

I love you Gina, please come and see me.

With all of my heart,
Aunt Sheila

I don't know. I just don't know.
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Nine Rooms updates every Tuesday - Gina - Nick - Claire - Alan - Joey

Mirroring

2006-08-01T05:32:00.000+01:00

Have you ever been walking along some place in which you would never expect a full-length mirror and then there is one, startling you with your own image? It's disconcerting.

Like these baby photos.

Nancy brought photos of Sheila and I swear they're me. While I really enjoyed spending more time with Nancy (and I'll share our stories and laughs later) I can't even think of anything beyond the look in Sheila's childhood eyes. I had that look. I have to make contact. I can't wait for a face-to-face. I have to show her my photos. I have to know.

So, Nancy is going to relay an email for me. I've scanned photos and, if Nancy agrees that it's time to do so, she's going to share this with Sheila. I cannot imagine the stress this might put on their relationship but I can't even begin to think about that. I must selfishly move forward and try to get some answers in my own life. Maybe the fact that I care whether I'm sending Nancy's world into a tailspin, raising questions about her mother that she never knew she would have, means I'm less likely to cause undue harm than if I were to just charge in, unthinkingly. I must try to remember that I care about Nancy and like her a whole lot... and that she may be my sister.

God, as much mental and emotional prep as I've done on this (trying to be sure that I not get ahead of myself, not get too excited about the possibilities, not jump to the conclusion that someone who may not be my mother is my mother), my heart is racing.

Here's the email I'm sending.

Dear Sheila,
I am so grateful to Nancy for choosing to share this email with you.
Perhaps she has already prepared you for what it says. If she has not and you are reading this with no context, let me ask you to brace yourself (and ask that you indulge me, if I am off-base).
I think I may be your daughter.
Please take a look at the photos I've attached to this email. There are several of me as a child along with several of you as a child that Nancy shared with me.
I guess I am using these photos as a way to prove to myself that I may have relatives here (I am an American), but perhaps you don't even need to see them. Did you have a daughter 25 years ago and put her up for adoption?
I suddenly feel formal and inappropriate for putting this in an email. I'm sorry.
Can we meet? Even if I am not your child, I do hope to meet you. I am fascinated by your hatmaking business and have been greatly enjoying spending time with Nancy. As her friend, I am sure I would like to know you.
I hope you would like to know me too.
Thank you for reading.
Gina Nelson

I suddenly hate this email. Not sure I'm going to send it. I thought I was more eloquent than this. How do you introduce yourself to someone you think knew you first, before you were even alive?
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Nine Rooms updates every Tuesday - Gina - Nick - Claire - Alan - Joey

Hat Trick?

2006-07-25T06:47:00.000+01:00

Not much to say. I've been eagerly awaiting another visit with Nancy (and, more eagerly awaiting a meeting with her mother, Sheila), but she (Sheila) is still fighting illness and I'm fighting impatience.

Sheila makes hats. Is that weird? I mean, it's not like she knits and sometimes what she knits finds its way into a hat which she gives to a pregnant friend as a baby present or something. She MAKES. Hats. She sketches designs and tacks swatches to them and then builds the damn things for women to wear.

Of course, I immediately thought of my early artistic bent and wondered if my instincts would've led me (might still lead me) to some very creative lifestyle, had I had more encouragement growing up. Hell, I had plenty of encouragement, so don't get me wrong. It's just those moments when you're a kid and ask for Fashion Plates but get an Easy Bake Oven... as an adult trying to find yourself, you wonder what that sort of thing might have done to your life's path.

Eh, who cares?

When Sheila is back at work (her hat shop, or the shop at which she sells her hats, or the shop from which she buys hat-making supplies--haven't determined yet), Nancy mentioned that she'll be around here, since she Tubes to Stepney to help her mom out every week. I wonder if Nancy is waiting to tell Sheila about me or if she has told her about me or if I'll get to be the one to propose that there is a "me" in her life at all. Ahh... just ready to get on with it, so I hope Sheila gets well soon.

Meanwhile, I'll continue to buzz 'round town and check out the locals, studying faces to see any shred of recognition, familiarity, or just plain ol' interest. It's boring in the house, with all its drama.
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Nine Rooms updates every Tuesday - Gina - Nick - Claire - Alan - Joey

O'Briens with a Hardwick and Ramblings from Nick

2006-07-14T21:12:00.000+01:00

I had so been looking forward to visiting Nancy at her home, but when her mom came down with the flu, Nancy called to postpone. I couldn't have that. We had to at least meet or I'd never get a decent night's sleep again.

So, we decided on O'Briens for some Italian coffee (I know, O'Brien's is an Irish Pub back in the states, but whatever) in Hammersmith. I arrived very early, filled with nerves and questions. I knew her right away. She looked like someone I would be friends with back home. She looked like someone I would have gone to college with. She looked like someone who would've worked with Claire when she was in the states doing non-profit stuff with mom. She looked like me.

But that also could've just been my hopeful way of seeing her when she first walked in the café, dressed in jeans and wearing dark sunglasses as if she were in Manhattan. When she spoke, I heard familiar tones. I don't fully understand it, but it's like I know her (like I have known her before). Again, could be high hopes, could be something more. Hard to know.

We got along very well. Any awkwardness slipped away quickly when she asked about LA and I talked about the very faux-trendy Paris Hilton wannabe types who carry around robot dogs in their purses. I told her that I'm always tempted to say, "This ain't 'Sex and the City,' honey," and I think she liked getting to hear how I would speak if I were at home and having coffee with a friend. Nancy's giggles went right out of control and she said she'd become very tired of seeing big city gals dressing like Carrie Bradshaw and company, sipping Cosmos and talking about their sex lives ever since the show got trendy here. "Manners, ladies!" she said. I like Nancy.

Turns out Nancy's mom was semi-serious with a few different men in her pre-Nancy's-dad days. I know no one wants to think of her own mother as a tramp, and I didn't get the sense that Nancy feels that way, but to have me sitting across from her, pushing for information on her mother's early sex life... well, it was only a tiny bit odd, as we found a way to always bring it back to "Being Samantha" when we were talking far too much about brief encounters (ours or otherwise).

Anyway, perhaps Nancy and I are related. I feel it in my bones that we are, but I also feel it in my bones that I am looking for a connection, period. And since I chose not to pursue anything with Joey and since Claire has made her desire for distance known, I just need to give this whole thing time and not assume my friendship with Nancy is due to shared DNA. But I really really really feel that it could be true.

Dad was hopeful and sweet, when I called with details for him. He ended this week's call with, "I'm so glad you came into our lives, sweetheart." I have to say, no matter what, that is never a bad thing to hear. If Nancy's mother is somehow my mother too, it could be that the only father I will ever know will be my sweet dad. Sounds like it would be pretty tough to trace all of Nancy's mom's encounters. Oh, who knows. It's early.

I floated home on a cloud of possibilities and hope to find Precise Nick freaked out in a very non-Nick kind of way. He looked somehow more relaxed than he ever does, but still not "cool." It's like Lumbergh in "Office Space." Never cool, but so sure he is. He took my hands and led me to the sofa, saying, "We must discuss this." I imagined it was something about Joey's shoes or Alan's weed or Claire's locked doors, but instead it was Syd Barrett and did I know what a God he was, did I think he'd been murdered, did I know that it was all a conspiracy to keep a troubled genius from bringing Pink Floyd to the level of greatness that The Beatles enjoyed in the states? I still have no idea why this was all so important to him. I resisted the urge to ask him if Syd was the one who played the role of "Pink" in the band.
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Nine Rooms updates every Tuesday - Gina - Nick - Claire - Alan - Joey

Instincts

2006-07-11T08:52:00.000+01:00

Do I have family here? Is it possible? God, I don't know. And I want to be so excited, but also want to be very very very very careful with my heart.

Let me spell out what has happened, before I get carried away with what ifs.

After calling every Hardwick in Hammersmith, Fulham, and surrounding areas, I got a Nancy Hardwick on the phone. She's twentysomething and has family in LA. Or did. She said her aunt in LA died not too long ago--and, of course, that's got me sure it was mom, right? So that would make Nancy my cousin, possibly. But the more we talked about her LA family, the more she began saying this possibly-my-mom person wasn't really her aunt, but more of a friend of the family, which was why her family chose not to go to the funeral--although she didn't get specific about that decision. She was clearly getting a little nervous about my questions (and I suppose I can see why--I mean, I wouldn't know how to react if some foreign chick called me and started asking me about my personal life) and suggested that we meet for tea next week, just to talk about LA and family and whether or not we have some sort of connection or if she could maybe lead me to someone who knows more.

But I feel fluttery. Could just be nerves but it could also be that my instincts are telling me I've hit on something meaningful. I'm excited yet terrified at the possibilities. Could she be a sister to me? Guess I just have to suck it up and meet Nancy, whose face I will surely study for similarities I've seen in my mirror. Amazing the things we take for granted when we think the people we call "family" are our relatives for a quarter-century, only to find out we're not related at all.

Otherwise, there's roommate stuff to contend with. I'm not sure what EBAY is about, because outside of a friend bidding on a "Sanford and Son" lunchbox back in college, I just don't have much experience with it. I think it's like a garage sale online and now one of my roommates has put Joey's shoes up for bids. It's gotta be either Precise Nick or Cross Alan, but I really don't care. When Joey wanted to vent about it, I brought up the R-word (relationship), which is always sure to make a boy's eyes glaze over. It's true, though, I'm really not looking for anything to happen between us. Kiss was nice (as most kisses tend to be), but I'm not looking to introduce drama into this living situation. Affection is a luxury I can do without right now.

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Nine Rooms updates every Tuesday - Gina - Nick - Claire - Alan - Joey

Predisposition

2006-07-02T19:35:00.000+01:00

It happened like this. We were passing in the hall. Very typical. And not at all special or meaningful. But then Joey stopped and, of course, I stopped too. What did he want? Why did he stop? He looked at me in that very cute way he has and said something like, "About that uncontrollable instincts thing..." and I guess this was a part of our post-dinner party conversation, but I don't quite recall.

Still, I answered, "Uh-huh. Yeah. We're driven by instincts because we're genetically predisposed to that. No matter what we're conditioned to do. It's nature vs. nurture, really, and nature always wins out." I was definitely being cute, but also doing my best to remember what I had said the night before.

And then he kissed me.

Seriously. It was weird. I mean, I know I'm kind of into him anyway, but I'm also trying to stay a little focused about why I'm here in the first place. So, when he kissed me, I was both pleased and startled. I kissed back, but not in a too-eager kind of way. Before I could open my eyes again, Joey said, "Uncontrollable instincts."

I just giggled and continued on down the hall. I guess that's that. But it's also okay it's not all. Just know I'm not mooning about. I don't want anything to get awkward here in the house. It's already weird with Joey having worked at Nick's restaurant and that going south.

In other news, Dad did his regular call to me, again with more information about who I might be. Does he have a list of things? Does he decide every few days to call and reveal a little something else? I can't tell if he's trying not to over-share so as to keep me from becoming overwhelmed by all of this or if his guilty conscience is having him plunk down a tidbit every so often.

Either way, this time it was, "Get thee to Hammersmith." So, off to West London I go. I saw Richmond in the 1901 Census at the Family Records Office before, so I guess I have a starting point.

It's not so much that I'm hoping to rush to the finish line on finding out whose I am. I just really feel in a state of suspended animation somehow. I have so many questions about why it is I do the things that my instincts would have me do... and because I have no idea whose life I could look at for a road map, I just feel "on pause." At least now I understand why I never saw myself like my dad, even though I was brought up as "Daddy's Little Girl" for so long. I do love the man, but I'm nothing like him. And now I know why.

"Proud of you," was the last thing he said. I know that's true. I don't want to make it seem as though I undervalue his love and support. I just have an aching need to connect with true family. Even if there is no love and support there.

God, I hope there is love and support there.

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Nine Rooms updates every Tuesday - Gina - Nick - Claire - Alan - Joey

Accomplishments?

2006-06-26T09:52:00.000+01:00

I'm spinning, spinning, spinning. I don't think I mind. No... I'm not sure if I mind. I don't CARE if I mind. How's that?

I promised myself that I wouldn't blog drunk without disclosure of that fact because it's really rude to my process of journaling (How Dr. Phil do I sound?!?) not to admit where I am, mentally.

I feel like starting each sentence with "I" and I don't CARE if I mind. No... that will get old. I'm scrambled. Doesn't matter. This is for me more than anyone else. Yet I care what others think and that is getting so very annoying.

I'm rambling. Claire hurt my feelings. No, pervs, she's not my girlfriend or anything (ew). I just thought we were closer than it seems we are. I'm just so desperate for family. Whatever the hell that means.

I'm frustrated. I spent a year and a half (okay, a day) at the Useless Records Office (sorry, the Family Records Office in Farringdon--this is like North Central London for friends back home) whose Useless Records come all the way up to modern day: 1900 or some other such bullshit. "Protect privacy" my ass. ("Protect prih-vussy" my arse.) I'm suddenly over being here.

But then I remember why I'm here and know I can't give up so easily. Suddenly pissed at myself for being so damn American. And wondering if I even am, really. Ugh!

Mom, I miss you. I'm not mad at you for holding this information away from me. I mean, I AM mad... but I also guess I understand. And I just know you were going to tell me any moment where I came from and WHO I AM. And I have to remember that there is something beautiful about having been chosen. So many mutts aren't. (I assume I'm a mutt. I assume I'm a cross-breed. I assume I'm a crack baby. I assume I'm a carrier of some evil thing. I understand that adopted people assume a lot of things... when left no alternative. Augh! I'm so angry!)

I'm all over the map. I keep doing this up and down thing. One moment, I love my mom for having been so wonderful to me, raising me as her own and taking me on in the first place. Another, I'm crushing on silly UK boys and hoping they find my accent cute while I paint my toenails and flirt. Stupid girl.

Okay, roommate gossip: Joey and I got STONED!!!!!!!!!! I know!!! I'm still a little metaphorically drunk from the whole experience! Claire had made Joey seem like such a freak after The Whole Tube Thing (that's what Claire and I are officially calling it when no one else is around) and first impressions really stick for me. Maybe I need to get over that.

Anyway, eager-to-bond Nick had prepared a beautiful Thai meal that rocked my socks (OMG, did you know how delicious Tom Kah Kai was? I did NOT! Now I DO!) but that did not rock Joey's socks. I'm not sure I get him, because I can't imagine wanting to do drugs after being so sick, but maybe that's why there's medicinal marijuana and I don't assume to understand any of that anyway. Point is, Joey came down after barfing forever to smoke pot with Alan. I was so freakin' happy just to be asked to join in. I guess I'm just so used to Southern California and its laid-back, everyone's cool kind of vibe that I'm weirded out sometimes by the thick-skinned, intimidating, Manhattan-like vibe of Londoners. Are all Brits like this? I need to meet more people here.

It started out so normal. Joey and I ended up talking about our various travels and common interests. He doodled while he talked, which I found precious. Definitely cooler than the Very. Precise. Conversation. About. Government. that I was having with Nick earlier. (Note: I still have so much to learn. As much as I've always loved to cross my sevens, write my dates in day-month-year format, or include my "u" in colour, there's a big lot of stuff I know nothing about, here. Anyway, I'll explore that more later.) Maybe Nick needs to relax? What if Alan is fun sometimes too? Don't know. He's cross like his name.

FUCK! Now I want to know what my first name is. Was. Is supposed to be. Originally. Before the people I call Mom and Dad. "I Know My First Name Is Steven" is suddenly all I can think about. Great, Gina. Cheesy movie-of-the-week reference from the yank. Ugh. When Dad called to check on me, he reminded me that Hardwick is the last name of my biological parent(s). If I ever heard that before I packed up and moved here, I sure don't recall it. Sweet Dad did end the call with, "Gina, you don't have to do this, you know. I love you." God I miss Mom.

I should note that I did find a good many Hardwicks in Richmond when I was at the Useless Records Office. Farringdon didn't suck completely. I didn't strike out across the board.

Jesus, this shit is annoying as hell. Well, I wasn't going to pottymouth my blog, but I guess that ship has sailed. Do you SEE how I'm all over the place? I want to go back to when I had it all figured out. Age 24: got it. Age 25: lost it all. Oh, but it's sooooo not that dramatic. Just feels that way sometimes.

Back to the J (I'm so cool--I just called a joint a J). I can't believe I tried it. I totally promoted a bad gin-and-clove cigarettes night into a "back in college" sometimes smoker persona. I seriously cannot tell what is making me want to reinvent myself: circumstances or fate. Anyway, it burned like a mofo and I started crying over the bitterness and heat. How anyone does this sort of thing is beyond me... or it was. I guess after a little more I was okay. I don't know.

We just kept talking, with Alan power-puffing and Playstationing. Joey probably wanted to play too, but he kept asking me what I thought about this and that. We spun into deep conversation that I don't remember, and I woke up today a smitten kitten.

I SO don't want to be! I have work to do! But I suppose if this place brings an every now and then dress-up spicy dinner followed by flirtation, deep thoughts, and diversions, that's not too bad a way to balance out the futility of going through "proper channels" to discover who I am.
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Nine Rooms updates every Tuesday - Gina - Nick - Claire - Alan - Joey

Such plans...

2006-06-21T12:11:00.000+01:00

I had such plans for keeping a regular blog about this experience. These experiences. I'm not going to believe I've failed at writing about what's happening. I'll try to catch up this place (blog) with what's going on in this place (London) and, more specifically, this place (my new "home"--although it's far from "home"-feeling). But can anyplace feel like home when you're Little Orphan Annie all of a sudden?

Not trying to be overly dramatic. Just piecing it all together. Why the hell would everyone tell me how much I look like my mother if they all knew I'd been adopted? And why the hell would I have to wait to learn this fact until my "mother" died? I'd say it's like I've been an unwitting guest on that stupid Ashton Kutcher show except that there are no cameras. I want to be angry but if not for my dear, sweet mom (I already feel bad for putting "mother" in quotes before), I'd not have had such a good life... and I know that I have. And I'm only here because I can afford to do so (and, emotionally, can't afford not to). I'm so grateful to my father for nudging me to take this trip.

Sheesh, what am I even saying? How many people get to live a wonderful, fulfilling life for a quarter-century, then explore some new place in search of things like true heritage, a sense of family, and any understanding of things that never seemed to "click" during the day to day? I'm actually lucky. I know that. Hell, maybe this will be loads of fun. Roommates are a new experience for me, for sure. I don't know if I could do this without Claire. I know she couldn't have known, when she was working for Mom, that she would become my UK-connection on this quest. Her willingness to provide me with a "safe place to land" here is a kindness I will never forget.

So now here I begin again. Or for the first time, really. And even though we all speak the same language, England is somehow foreign to me.
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Nine Rooms - Gina - Nick - Claire - Alan - Joey

Mostly Packed

2006-06-07T00:39:00.000+01:00

I'm mostly packed but find myself obessing over stupid things like will I be seen as a wannabe if I spell color "colour" or use "v." for very. I mean, I've always done these things, but it's never mattered before. Maybe it doesn't matter now either, but I can't stop focusing on it. And I guess that's as good a thing to obsess over as anything, right now. Whose idea was it to take out the "u" in "colour" anyway?