I have a to-do list posted to my window and it is sitting here staring at me. Nothing has been checked off of it yet. Just when I think I've finished something or accomplished something, I realize it's only a very small part of everything that has to get done.

I did finish my university essay though. And I'm actually happy with it. I'm happy with something I wrote about myself. That doesn't generally happen.

Maria, the lovely Israeli roommate, is now playing some depressing Damien Rice on repeat and Katherine is asleep on the couch and the rain is sprinkling away outside. There are dirty dishes everywhere and incense burning and the air has a Sunday feeling, that feeling of just waiting for something to start or something to begin. But it's only Saturday.

I can't wait to be in London. Somewhere alive, moving. Not stagnant, like here.