I survived. The plane flew fine except for turbulence, and good thing I didn’t find out about the change of course- right over the ocean instead of following the land- or I would have gripped onto the arm rests eve harder. I watched 3 films on the plane- all chick flicks in honour of my mate I had just stayed with who loves them. I saw Bride Wars (absolute rubbish) and He’s Just Not Into You (alright on a plane I suppose- they did play The Cure at the end. And then I started watching The Young Victoria which seemed alright except I didn’t get to see the ending.

I arrived back at 6am in the Uk and then stayed awake til 10pm to try to get into British time straight away, except now I am very tired as I seem to have missed a night’s sleep somewhere a long the way. Yesterday was thunderstorms here but today it seems pretty sunny and summery, and I am off to a nearby town to get me hair cut.

Now I am back I have some photos to take off my digital camera, some money to sort out and some clothes to wash. I am also pretty worried about going back to my studies on Monday. Still not sure if it is the right decision. Sure, a masters degree from a good institution will look good on the CV, but I am worried about working all hours, working weekends, being stressed, taking it out on MrC, resenting being there and getting depressed. And also failing, and not being good enough. If I work long hours I will not like it, but if I don’t, they won’t like me. And the truth is I like having free time after work to sew, to go running, to see friends, to cook, to read. Last night I met the girls and professors from my second job, one who has a PhD in microbiology, and she said it’s about determination, I’ll only be back for 6 months, and just to suck it up really and work the long hours cos it’s worth it. Thing is to me, I’m not sure if it is worth it anymore. I don’t want to be depressed, even for 6 months of my life; life is short, but I guess that is also an argument for making the most of it and getting this bloody masters. It’s easier to quit when you’ve quit once before too.

So I want it, and I don’t want it. I want to work hard but set boundaries and treat it like a job, but I think they will take that as not being dedicated, and not be happy if I am not there til 9pm or in on Sundays. But I shouldn’t care what it looks like, that’s stupid, I should just get the work done. But I feel a lot of it is about what you look like.

Ok, enough of this talk that is already stressing me out, off to have a shower and try to wake myself up.

Been visiting Long Island this weekend, the ocean, wine tours, concert in NYC last night. Sorry have not been able to reply to your comments or catch up on blog reading, will be on the case when i am home in a week! For now, I leave you with some more pictures from my trip!

And MrC, sorry I gave you tonsilitis! Will make it up to you when I get back.

I’m sitting on the sofa in my mate’s apartment, listening to David Bowie and Mint Royale and waiting for her to come back from the lab. She has a sweet apartment- all finds from thrift stores and house sales and dumpsters. She’s covered a table with paper from newspapers and cartoons, magazines, calendars and varnished it. It looks really good. But she does have something she bought- a large brown soft and comfy sofa. It is really one of those you just lean back on, bigger than you, it seems to be giving you a hug, inviting you to rest your head, put your feet up.

The flight out of heathrow was delayed a bit by high winds, but when we got airborne there was only slight turbulence, where I missed MrC’s hand to hold on to. I’m not that keen on flying- too much of a control freak. Paris Hilton was on my flight, and I was pretty sure bad karma was going to bite me in the ass and the plane would crash. She was with some dude with dark hair queuing beside me, she in the 1st class fast lane and me in my cowboy hat and newly resoled cowboy boots in “world traveller” or whatever euphemism they use for 3rd class.

At security the man asked me “What sort of name is that”. It’s gaelic, I told him. I’m Scottish. “Ah, that explains it” he said. He asked me who I was visiting in the bronx. I told him about my friend, how I met her, her middle name, and things he probably didnt need to hear. “We worked in a corn field together” “Uh-huh”. Och well. Fingers, thumbs and eyes photographed and I was outta there. I met a girl at the baggae reclaim who recognised the bok in my bag- Novel About My Wife by Emily Perkins. I asked her if she was a literature student, but she was in fact a writer who had been reading from her book at a literary festival in the UK. I asked the name of her book- One More Year. I told her I liked the book I read, but didn’t really understand the ending. And that I found the character Tom, who was telling the story, a bit depressing. “You mean the husband, the narrator” she said. I got my bag and left, telling her I’d check out her book. I just looked it up, her name is Sana Krasikov. Maybe I’ll get her book to read on the plane home. My mate said I shoulda got her to sign my book. “But she didn’t write it” I said. “Yeah, that would have made it cooler”.

On the plane I watched Gran Torino and Yes Man. Both passed the time in their own way. I went to bed at 430am UK time, woke up 5am US time. Now I am very hungry, it being 1pm here and 6pm in the UK. I want lots of lovely food and I want it now. There’s always something cool about going to the supermarket in a foreign country. I remember that about the first time I came to the US, having previously been to France, Belgium, Spain: the US was so foreign but they all spoke English. It freaked me out. The pavements are so wide, the road signs are in a different font, the milk is 1 or 2%, the temperature is in the 70s.

I want a bialy. I want reese’s peanut butter cups. I want hershey kisses. I want pumpernickel bread. I want pastrami. I want canoli.

Just managed to blue tooth an image from my phone. Amn’t I cleber? That’s the table and me reading a book, just started the Grave Diggers Daughter.

I have a confession to make.

I HATE Sex and the City. It’s utter tripe and bollocks, rhubarb and bum rubbish.

There, I feel better now.

Sorry if I do not conform to the female stereotype as conveyed by The Guardian or The Daily Shite.

Today is my last day at work in this office. Last night I watched Office Space, which is kinda apt for the night before leaving a cubicle-filled office.  Only troube is, his morning I have tonsilitis. Showed the doctor where I worked and he looked a bit repulsed, saying I had “nodules” on my tonsils. Oh well, I love getting ill on a Friday… no Doctors appointments til next week. Which means I am left gargling aspirin water and sucking on weird looking lozenges that promise me they’re antbacterial. Hell, it’s probably viral.

Today we’re eating lots and lots of cake at work and going out for lunch to a local pub where they serve really delicious home cooked chips! MrC is off work today, at home with a cold. I bought some nice sausages at the farmers market this morning whilst I was waiting for Boots to open. Boots would probably be a better name for a shoe shop, but then Target would be a better name for a firing range.

I found this desktop wallpaper on deviant art: Femme Fatale by StuntKid http://blog.stuntkid.com/. I kinda like it. Deleting all my personal folders now, old emails and the like. Will still probably have to do some testing for them next week, because the development of a programme I was working on was delayed, but that’s OK. You know, now that I am leaving, it doesn’t seem so bad. But that’s because I know I won’t be here when I’m 50, even if it would be great job security.

I am very much looking foward to going on holiday, seeing some tug of war with muscly men, curiosities, indie craft fair, horse racing (never been before), roof-top movies, Hyde Park, Long Island and other places. I may even get to meet up with Jan at some point. If you have ever been to New York and know of cool places to see and things to do, then let me know. I’ve done Ellis and Liberty Islands, the Empire State Building, Time Square and so on, so something not well known in the tourist books.

Y’know, it doesn’t really feel like my last day. It’s not a big deal, I’ve not worked here that long. They have given me a nice bag as a going away present. I’m not moving house. But, it’ll be nice not to sit infront of a computer all day long.  Human beings were not meant to sit in little cubicles staring at computer screens all day.