I’ve been bad.  I’ve left America once again and only marginally achieved my goal.  I finally sorted out all my junk, but never saw the plan through.  Rather than selling all my clothes and STUFF, it is all sitting in bags and boxes in a spare room.  Things I want to keep but could not bring with me on my plane flight back to England are in boxes and suitcases in my old bedroom, waiting to slowly make their way across the Atlantic.

So now I’m sitting in a pub in Chelsea, having finally submitted my visa application and officially a Master of Arts, trying to finish up job applications and send out e-mails I’ve been delaying sending.

And while I desperately want a grownup job, I instead foresee myself working behind the bar in a pub just like the one I’m sitting in right now.  Or back in a shop somewhere.