Back in the Wilderness

New Hampshire is not all wilderness, despite prevailing beliefs. Once, when I told some teenagers on a playground in Upstate New York that I was from the "mythical land of New Hampshire," they told me that sounded like "some Narnia shit." Kudos to them for reading, I guess.

In any case, I'm back in New Hampshire. Before I even embarked on my final adventures with my parents, I had to bid farewell to Puzzle, the mouse that moved into my flat. But before leaving Europe for good, I was back in London for a final day. It gave me a chance to remember that for a semester I lived in a place that had sidewalks.

I said a last goodbye to the smear of yellow paint in the road near my old flat that looked like a mustache and spent the gray day taking my parents on a multi-mile march through the city. I won't be bothered to give a blow by blow of the sites I walked them by, though I will say that I discovered yet another London rhino in the theatre section of the V&A.

After two bag searches and my very first pat down (I'm glad to report my ticklish side did not come out as my new friend stroked my thighs), I boarded the plane bound for Boston. I won't lie to you and say that I'm really unpacked because the clothes I took out of suitcases are on a pile in the floor by my closet. But I've snuggled the shit out of my cats and driven my eggplant like van, Gertrude. I mowed the lawn with a bandana tied around my face like a bandit in order to try and stave off the allergies. I've gone to my old trivia night and written shamelessly flirtatious messages to Phil, the ultimate trivia host. I am readapting to home. I've said goodbye to London, so all that really remains to do - and do pardon me if this seems rather cliche - is say goodbye to you, dear reader. So, goodbye. I'll miss the way you smell just after midnight...