where do i even begin?

I woke up craving a cup of tea this morning. Earl gray with a splash of milk. And a biscuit for dunking. There is nothing revolutionary about this statement. Millions of people drink tea all day, every day. But this is new to me, this tea drinking thing. I am, and have always been, a coffee girl through and through. I’ve never liked the taste of black tea (let alone milk), but here I am, after 5 months in London, craving tea. And biscuits for dunking.

It seems entirely unfair that just as I start adapting to life here (which took much adapting, I might add), I must now leave. Back to Montreal, to square one, to finding a place, to finding a job. Where do I even begin to tell you how I feel right now. What thoughts are swirling in my head. Where my heart is. The truth is I can’t, because I don’t know myself. One minute I’m crying, the next I want to live it up, to the fullest, every single second of the next two weeks. But what the Buddhists don’t tell you is exactly how to live fully in the present, knowing what the future holds. A long, cold winter, without him by my side. Skype dates (ugh!). Text messages (blech!). Phone calls (fuck!). Can I just tell you what I really think about this whole thing? It’s bullshit is what it is.

And now that I’ve told you what I really think, I’m going to step away from the computer. Very slowly. And have myself a cup of tea. And a biscuit for dunking.

Leaving you with images from Normandy, where we recently celebrated Joe’s brother’s birthday with the most amazing group of creatives — a film maker, a fashion designer, a milliner, a weaver, a photographer, a chef, a writer, a make-up artist, a painter. Gays, drag queens (Julian by day, Jacqui Potato by night), heterosexuals… one big happy family. This is the first time I’ve cross processed slide film and though I can’t say that I entirely digg it (I prefer my photos to be a bit softer, more natural, mat), it was worth experimenting with and somehow lent itself well to the moodiness of the sky.

And while it is still fresh in my mind (and because I want to remember everything of my time here), weekend highlights included:

• 30 quid worth of cheese. So much cheese that it took me nearly a week to even consider eating another morsel of what is generally one of my favorite foods on the planet.
• Building a bonfire for Guy Fawkes night and drinking champagne under the stars.
• Champagne. Glass upon glass of glorious champagne.
• Breakfast laid out each morning in the dining room. Everyone stumbling out of bed in their own time for a coffee and croissant.
• Getting dressed up for a catered dinner Saturday night (everyone was stylin’).
• Feeling like we were characters in a game of Clue — Mrs. Peacock did it in the library with a cheese knife.
• Profiteroles birthday cake. I think I found God that night inside one of those puff pastries.
• The venue. A Manoir in Normandy. Holy freaking luxury!
• Sitting by the fire watching Twin Peaks Sunday morning. 16 people sprawled out, drowsy (and probably still drunk) from the previous night’s extravanganza. Nothing quite like David Lynch on a hangover.
• Swimming polar bear style in the freezing cold pond… in bras and boxer shorts and t-shirts, you name it.
• Walking along the beach on a windy day collecting treasures for the birthday boy.
• Seeing mistletoe for the first time — big balls of mistletoe hanging high up in tall trees, like prehistoric nests.
• Wine tasting at the local Épicier’s.
• Eating candy and watching Bridesmaids at the cinema on the ferry home (let me repeat that… cinema on the ferry, people! Awesome!).