the whole world is moving, but i'm standing still

In this whole unpacking and repacking debacle that has taken over the living room, I managed to find my travel journal from the last time I ventured across the pond. The first entry was an observation of my flight experience. Here it is, redundancies, non sequiturs, and general fluffy formal language included:

July 28, 2008 Atlantic Ocean

I'm wondering if I can trick my body into rest if I just close my eyes and pretend to sleep. but my mind will not sleep; it remains aware of the engine hum and the little girl behind me whose periodic burst of upset are a a constant reminder that it is not the middle of the night to my inner clock. I cannot force the cluster of thoughts in my brain that bounce off its imagined walls waiting for attention to be paid them to settle until the sun pokes up its bright head. They win my hand and here I am, up with the people contentedly watching their in-flight movies, unbothered by the fact that in a few hours their inner clocks will go haywaire with frantic confusion because it is not the time it is supposed to be. Maybe we should all take a note from the Mad Hatter and smash the clocks to pieces and serve them to each other with jam and butter.

the plane windows are cold with the breath of night. The wings are flashing red light beams into the sky, silent signals to the stars, which will never receive our communication because millions of years is too long and the light is too feeble to be of much consequence. It is a weird thing, to be at an even level with the sky, to have something substantial miles beneath you. I used to think heaven was in the clouds, where God and His angels frolicked joyfully, but now I see that he has hidden His kingdom well beyond the reach of man. Heaven will never be a most-desired vacation resort for the well-travelled journeyman.

Restlessness, and nothing else to write of. Maybe now I can force my mind to be still and conform the the ever-changing time zones. Good night.

Expect a longer, more personal entry soon. There has been a lot to reflect upon these past two weeks.

day 4, oxford

Tonight I find myself in Oxford with some down time to actually update on my British excursion, so you’re welcome. I’m staying in a charming little cottage on one of the main thoroughfares, far from the center of the city (a good 30/40 minute walk) but quiet enough that I feel immersed in the stereotypical small-town England that so charms us on the west side of the Atlantic.

So I guess I’ll work backward, shall I?

The voice in my head is currently sporting a British accent, so forgive me if my writing at the moment seems incredibly formal. Also, the television is on some talking head program, so that might be the culprit.

So, today.

We left London on a charter bus at 9 this morning, arrived in Oxford around 11:30. After we moved in and killed the various spiders inhabiting the corners of our house, we made the walk back to the group’s meeting place and did a walking tour of Oxford. I love the quiet of the colleges; we went inside Corpus Christi and Trinity Colleges and they remind me of the quiet little bubble that is Oglethorpe. Coincidentally, Corpus Christi is the birthplace of Oglethorpe, a fact which I already knew, but was amazing to witness in person.

Dinner was at a seafood restaurant. I had some of the most delicious salmon and cous cous; the Brits really know how to do seafood right. After that, a bunch of us popped over to the pub next door to the restaurant, but I only stayed for a bit before walking home with Hillary through some of the neighborhoods around where we’re staying. It was so quaint.

And now I’m sitting in the common room watching The Inbetweeners, which is a very amusing show, to my surprise. It’s an early night; I’m exhausted.

I must admit before I sign off that it’s strange, writing this way. I feel as if it’s not nearly as interesting recounting my daily experience in writing. Please don’t hold it against me, I’m tired.