Bad Day, Good Drinks, Even Better Friends

The weather in London yesterday matched my mood perfectly. It was rainy, grey and depressing. I was crying, blue, and depressed.

Yesterday was the first real bout of homesickness I have incurred since being here. However, it was not so much homesickness as much as what I like to call “comfort-sickness.” I missed CHC and I wished for the simple comfort of knowing all the teachers and having them know me (though I definitely take it for granted sometimes, and it CAN, at times, be overrated too!).

See I was fine. Until I got to my Health Psychology class that is. To make a long story short and save you from many of the long, boring details that my wonderful friends who are in London with me have already had to hear, over and over (sorry, guys!), the teacher and I do NOT seem to be getting along at all, and it is going to be one bitch of a class to get through alive.

Being the perfectionist I am, and knowing how hard I am on myself, you can all most likely guess that I will literally come close to killing myself to kick ass in her class and do really well. I DO NOT accept anything less than “really well,” aka, PERFECT. On top of my own perfectionist ways, the teacher had given out guidelines for presentations and such that we had to follow. We literally have to be PERFECT. There was no room for anything else in the SLIGHTEST. I mean it is one thing to ask for perfection from myself and then having to answer to me when I mess up, but to have someone else expect such a high level of it was just scary and it seemed (still freakin’ seems) daunting.

So anyway, I had already had a meeting with this teacher after class on Tuesday to try and plead with her to let me stay in her class despite the fact that I lack one class she wants me to have (so does the other half of the class, but that does not seem to be an issue for any of them for some reason). I knew right then and there that this class was going to be hard, but I pushed it from my mind and went on with the rest of my week. Until yesterday when I walked into class to find that the one girl I had met and made friends with dropped the class citing later that she did not feel “it was going to be a fun class.” So there I was, all by myself, knowing no one, waiting for class to start, and listening to these perfect strangers tell horror stories about this teacher. And I freaked.

It was bad enough that two days earlier the teacher had sat in her office and practically told me that I did not have the determination or dedication as a student to get through her class, but now I had confirmation that she was rough! I was going home. There was no way I could do this! What the hell was I thinking signing up for a 4000 level psychology course?! I know it has been said that, “unless a man undertakes more than he possibly can do, he will never do all that he can,” but this was very little comfort to me at this moment in time and I did not care what I could do, I just knew that I could NOT do this!

Now I know I am a determined and dedicated student…but maybe this teacher was right, I thought. Maybe I don’t have the knowledge or capability to get through her class and do well. I began to self-doubt and in the process I managed to self-destruct and crumble.
So I came back from class, certain that I truly could not do this and flopped on my bed in shambles. Bridget came in from her class and flopped down next to me and though she already knew without me having to say a word, she asked, “what’s wrong?” I looked up and said, “studying abroad was the WORST idea I have EVER had and I want to go home!” “I felt that way before I even left! But we can’t go home, we will get through this!” (All words I think I had said to her the day before when she was going home, lol) “No, you don’t understand, I cannot do this, I am not strong enough to handle this,” and I proceeded to tell her all about psychology, the horror stories the other girls were telling and the perfection that the teacher was asking from me. With only the wisdom that a best friend has, she changed the subject and said, “the cute Australian boy Julian that you like from your newspaper class is in my religion class and I sit RIGHT next to him!!” “I want to go home and I want to take my Australian boy with me!” I said, my mood already beginning to look up.

So for the meantime, I picked myself up and headed to my English class. After an excessively long two hours in which I felt stupider and stupider by the minute around all these kids who seemed to be geniuses, I once again, knew for certain that I was going home. There was no way I could do this. I wanted an easy and fun semester. Time to take care of and focus on ME. Time to travel. Time to feel better and work through some of the really bad stuff that had been going on before I left. It certainly did not look like any of that was going to happen if I was going to have to kill myself to get through these classes.

The rest of the day followed in much the same order: classes were done, it was the weekend, and I was weepy and mopey on and off throughout the day at random intervals during which my wonderful and loving roommate would come, put me back together, tell me I didn’t have to deal with psychology until Tuesday and remind me that we were going out tonight and I would feel much better.

Anitra’s friend Hannah (who is also studying abroad at the University of Leeds) is here visiting for a few days, and we had plans to go out to dinner while Anitra was in her class from 6-9PM. I was hesitant and unsure if I wanted to go, but Bridget reminded me that I needed food in my stomach and it would be good for me to get up and moving. On top of it, I found out it was Italian (my favorite!) and after a day of crying, I certainly could NOT turn that down. So off we headed to Prezzo. A really cute little Italian restaurant.

After dinner we were supposed to head back to school to pick up Anitra and then head out to Camden to a pub called The Hawley Arms to meet up with Lanette’s friend (who is also studying abroad in London this semester), and then out to an indie club named PROUD. We were a bit late getting back from dinner, however and we decided to just meet them at the club. So we figured out which tube stops we needed to take (oh no! We left zone 1 this time!) and were on our way. After getting to Camden we began walking toward the club. Along the way we passed a bunch of pubs, and many tattoo and piercing shops. (Most likely where I am getting my piercing and where Bridget and I are getting our tattoos). The area kind of looked like a less busy South Street in Philadelphia.

So we get to a place called Stables Market, and it turns out that PROUD is inside these stables, it was kind of cool. We arrived at about 11, and the band unfortunately finished playing around 11:30, but then the DJ began playing old music from the 90’s that we just stayed and danced to. Admittedly, when we got there my mood was still wavering. I was fighting to be positive, but still feeling pretty low. However, after an Estrella beer (they were out of Corona and the bartender promised me that this Spanish beer tasted the same, which it did!), a rum and coke, and a night of dancing with some of the greatest people in the world, my mood began to look up.

Since the club cleared out shortly after the band was finished, we decided after just a bit that we were going to head back ourselves and maybe find a pub that was a bit more alive. So Lanette, Anitra and I figured out which bus we needed to get back (the tube closes at midnight) and we all were excited about our first double-decker London bus ride (of course we sat at the top!). When we got back to Marylebone, unfortunately The Globe was closed, and we were all pretty done with the older scene that hangs out at the Metropolitan Pub, so we just headed back to campus.

I wish I could say that my mood has improved 100%, but no, it isn’t completely there yet, I am still not feeling strong or smart enough to handle this and I am still very aware that this semester is going to be a major challenge, but I guess looking at it realistically, I would not be me if I did not succumb to my desire for some sort of a challenge. After all, “If you believe in what you are doing, then let nothing hold you up in your work. Much of the best work of the world has been done against seeming impossibilities. The thing is to get the work done.” And so I will, even if it kills me.