I’m Moving to Canada.

The flight from England I am a little scared and sad. My sister sees me off from the airport and that had resulted in liquid leaking from my face. There must have been a branch in my eye. Or something.

This thing I’m doing feels enormous and engulfing, like I’m being swallowed up. Confusing, as intellectually I know this is a good change and something that I want to do, something I have wanted to do for awhile.

I just wish the scaredy cat rest of my brain and my stomach would get the memo…

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Dallas.

I hate Dallas.

That is, Dallas airport (because that’s all I saw of it) <- brace yourselves, that’s as rational as this post gets.

Some might think that my distaste is unreasonable. That I’m immature to be so negative about a place I was only in for around 4 hours.

I say you are all wrong, I am completely justified, and that Dallas is a pool of depravity.

Here is why; I ordered a coffee.

Ahah! See where I went wrong? Oh to turn back the wheel of time so as to spare myself the distress to follow following such a seemingly innocent activity; asking for a latte. And then being handed one. The large cup feels uncomfortably flimsy, cheap and (in all-knowing retrospect) suspiciously cool.

I took a sip of coffee.

I took off the lid and looked at the coffee.

London has been referred to as grey, and it is at that. The sky is often white rather than the fairy tale blue we like to think a sky should be. The concrete starts on the ground and rocks it’s way up to match the sky above, breaking pattern every now and then for a victoriana throwback or a trendy cafe. The monotone lives in contrast and texture, windy streets that make no sense, and cobble stones that break the heels of grey faced and black coated commuters. The grime blankets everything and lives on, as well as next to, sleek marble or flat slabs.. But the grey is alive, it has depth and personality, it is distinct and faceted. It serves as contrast to the character and diversity, the art and history.

This is not that grey.

..In the hazy days of my childhood, on the rare occurrence of a sunny day, something practically inevitable would happen. I would be given a blue ice lolly. Everyone of a certain age from England will immediately know that to which I refer. For those without a UK upbringing, this was a long cylinder of frozen chemical water so intrinsically blue it actually tastes of blue. Other blues seem to be meer shades of green or indigo, every other blue pales in comparison. This blue is an all powerful invasion of the senses. It’s bright and happy tasting. Synaesthesia – that’s a thing people.

You must see where this is going.

I had never tasted Dallas coffee grey before this day, and I never want to again. This grey was not a London grey, this was one that invades the soul, it seeps in and settles. All hope is lost. The world loses colour, actually taking away contrast. Kittens cry. I could go on.

I threw away the coffee.

No words.