As the end of our stay nears, our days are chock filled (more than ever anyway), and the pace gets even more frantic–yesterday I crammed in a quick trip to Foyles Books, some work itself (well all day), and then the hubby and I had dinner and drinks with an old and dear college friend who now lives in London.
I keep cramming more and more into one day, feeling desperate and beyond tired. (I never entirely made the shift to “London time.”) Today, we made a day trip to the English countryside, beautiful and vibrant and green. So little time, such a beautiful country!
I still have a list of things I’d like to do that I couldn’t get around to doing–I guess that just leaves reasons for me to return. Yet still, I’m amazed at the pace we’re keeping. My legs were sore the first few days–had I slowed down so much at home that to walk everyday now makes my leg muscles sore? I guess so.
I am not sure if the daytrip to the idyllic countryside has made London feel more frenetic than how we left it, but it sure does seem buzzing.
The city here has taken on a higher hum of activity–St. Patrick’s Day and Mother’s Day fall in the same weekend, and the restaurants are full, the pubs are full, the department store displays show pastel colors and green.
It is our tradition (whether conscious or not) to burrow down when a city launches into holiday–a few years ago we were in New York City on New Year’s Eve–what did we do? We got on a plane and left town, we found the new buzz unbearable. Tonight, we’re in bed early, with no intention of stepping into a pub for a Guinness, and looking forward to our flight home tomorrow morning.
I have discovered on this trip newly returned capabilities, and some lessons in my stroke recovery–one thing being, I have decided to put it past me. At least superficially and publicly. I’ll still be coping and the issues may pop up, and I may air them, but for now, I’m going to push myself very very hard, privately, and see where that leads me.