Hey Peeps --
I'm taking a much needed break from the 144 heavyhanded pages that make up Martin Buber's philosophic text I And Thou (for school of course). As I sit here, I'm tempted to write about the material I'm reading, which, although dry and a bit caught up in religion for my interest, is rather captivating, I know that, at present, that would be just a way of playing chicken with what I'm reaaaaaally thinking about.
Since I play That Girl in this blog, it's only fair to introduce you all to the Donald in my life (not his real name, of course.... but play along). I've been gliding along for the past few years as a single gal in the city, no commitments, no strings, blah blah blah. At times, I've been exceedingly lonely, mostly thanks to the Facebook photo albums of the beautiful babies being had by friends, etc. But, as is my way, I usually just channel all of that into my artistic pursuits, and focus on running a theatre company and seeing art. And it's cool. But wouldn't you know it, three months before I embark on this grand adventure, your That Girl goes off and falls in love. Oops. And yay.
My Donald is a pretty grand specimen, if I do say so myself. I can actually hear him in my head as I type, grumbling because I'm calling him Donald. We have a good time together, and oddly enough, he seems to "get" me. Without my having to explain the weird things I think or do. Mostly, I think that one of the big big things I love best about this guy is that he has nothing but support for what I'm doing. Outside of my uber-awesome mom and dad, I haven't encountered that kind of unconditional support very often. We're sort of a hilarious, less homicidal melding of The Joker and Harlequin meets Felix and Oscar. And it works. Well. In short, he is the cheese to my macaroni, and I think that he's a keeper. Time zone differences notwithstanding.
But don't get too excited, Mom. I'm still leaving. In three weeks. To have a blast in London. For 365-ish days. And I couldn't be more thrilled. But just like a buddy popsicle, I do feel a little pull as I get ready to make the move. I'm going to have an international heart for the next year, it seems, loving both my life in London and my time with the Donald. I wouldn't have even bothered to carry things with him this far if he weren't so supportive. That made all the difference. So let's do this. With the help of Skype of course!
Back to the Buber... which I just accidentally misspelled as the Bieber. Sort of hilarious, actually.
Love,
TGI
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