Brighton

Ok, so the last post was a little, shall we say, uncivilised. I have since arrived at my aunt and uncle's place, washed myself, and retaught myself how to speak in normal sentences. The things I do for you.

And I'm back home! In the home I used to live in*! I have flat out refused to be jetlagged and as a result, I'm not. Easy. I've ventured a couple of times into Brighton centre, and when I go it's a weird mix of familiar and bizarre. Things that were totally normal to me, things like red double decker buses, the old fairground pier, the red letter boxes, etc etc, now make me into yet another Easily Impressed Tourist. I'm trying to be chilled about it but the truth is that double decker buses look like toys and make me want to 'aww' like a small, brain dead animal, but NO, keep it together, don't bring out camera and scream "IT'S SO ADORABLE", just keep walking and eating chips with salt and vinegar.

That being said, it's still somehow fairly normal. Familiar in a way I can't explain. I thought I'd be nervous, seeing as it's my first trip alone, but being back home gives me this weird sense of calm, like nothing could go wrong. Which sounds like the beginning of a horror movie, I know. And I am well aware that I would be one of the first to die in a horror movie, given my inability to cook for myself, climb trees, run faster than a late-for-the-bus meander, or built huts out of sticks and mud. Or maybe I would go crazy really quickly and become the one who eats people and can turn her head around 380 degrees. Not sure where this is going.

Side note: I have a roommate. It is a cat. His name is Ozzie and we don't get on very well. After having labradors, I resent having to actually earn love from an animal. With dogs, feeding them and not dying is enough to warrant endless love. I feel like I have to buy this dumb cat roses and a candlelit dinner just so that he will stay still long enough for me to pat him. This morning, he woke me up at 5 am by gnawing on my toes and annoyed me until I fed him, the whole time giving me a look that said "stop breathing my air". Stupid cat.


(* Aunt and uncle ended up buying our old house, just to add to the deja vu.)