Piccadilly

I've never been to London, just passed through Heathrow Airport on the way to Germany once.  Even though my feet did touch English ground, I don't count it as a visit. 

Kinda like when we flew out of Germany on a different trip.  We had to turn around and land in Ireland because there was a medical emergency on the plane.  Although we sat on the Irish tarmac for nearly 4 hours, it was supremely foggy so I couldn't really see a thing and my feet never touched the ground, so I don't count that as a visit either.

Visiting, visiting.  I would love to go to the UK and visit the places that are referenced in the novels I read.  I would love to tour the haunts of Van Helsing, Amsterdam, London... Piccadilly? Would I? 

While I was reading Dracula over the weekend, I came across Piccadilly in Chapter 13, Mina Harker's journal, September 22.  My brain immediately started singing Good Life. OneRepublic.

Piccadilly.  Piccadilly.  I like to say it. It may be a shithole for all I know.  Or it may be fantastic.  I'd like to know.

I haven't done a lot of reading today.  Just another chapter this morning.  All day has been...I was going to say absorbed, but I am not sure that is the right word.  Absorbed: having one's attention fully engaged; greatly interested.  No.  That's not it.  Spent.  All day has been spent visiting.  Visiting. Visiting.  Visiting.  Family.

At the risk of offending those I love, I won't rant here, but suffice it to say that all the conversations just become mind numbing at times.  Small talk, mostly and please don't ****ing ask me what should we do for dinner AGAIN, because it's the most interesting thing that you have to think about.  I guess the question has some legitimacy, but it is HOW it's asked that...ok. Enough.  This is me NOT ranting.

Sorry.  It's family.  I love them and I knew this was going to be the challenging part of this trip but I signed up for it anyway.  Today is the climax of that particular challenge, I think. I hope. 

Tomorrow we head to California, probably for another week.  But we're spending time there, in the  mountains, with my nephew and his family and they're chill.  

But as usual, I digress and I want to get back to this Piccadilly thing but I'm not sure at all where I intended this all to go when I started this post.

I knew I liked the way the word sounds.  I knew it was mentioned in the song.  I knew it was mentioned in the story.  But holy crap if it doesn't end up reeking of red light lore, in the urban dictionary anyway.  How do I always get here?  I'm so flipping naive, sometimes.  But I'm not.  But I am.  I'm clean.

However, I have been offered the opportunity to watch the Game of Thrones, because I haven't, because it's... well, I hear that it's pornographic and I really don't have any interest in that, you know?  But I also hear that it's brilliant and that, like Dracula and so many other "classics" it tells you about things if you have ears to hear.  It shows you things if you have eyes to see.  But it's violent and cruel and I am so sensitive.  I don't know if I can do it.  I don't know if I want to.  We'll see.

Visiting.  I want to see these places.  The beautiful places.  You know, I have so much more to say about this but I am going to have to assign it to the proverbial LATER category for now.  I am sure this later will come, although I can't quite say when. 

One quick thing I will say is that I have this idea for a little side hustle if I can make it work.  It goes along with my art interests and it goes along with my love of seeing new places.  The idea?  Basically, leading small art tours all around the world.  Wherever there is something cool to see.

I'd been thinking about this before I left NC on this trip.  Something about Piccadilly reminded me of this.  There's a plethora of possibilities on Piccadilly (that's bad).  Ok so I am tired again. Getting punchy.  Time to sign off for today.  Tomorrow we ride.

Good night. XO XO