Waiting in the queue has become a feature. We will start our signposting here.

"I'm working really hard now so that I can be happy at 45."

I laughed into my bun bo hue in the little Vietnamese joint out in far east Woolwich, but the two girls just stared at me blankly.

The British Chinese guy was serious. And I was beginning to resent them for taking me away from my book and the chance to get carnal with my hot carbs. I had already gotten myself over the earlier salvo from them: "We felt bad you were eating alone."

Gee, thanks.

It was a scenario where I was mostly perplexed at the gulf between us culturally despite appearances to the contrary. I value achievement and striving and all the other good nuggets, but waiting to be happy one glorious day seems a recipe to miss out on a whole lot of living. And from their end of things, I was the one wasting my life, my law degree, and when one girl asked my underachieving slacker self whether my parents approved of working for a charity, I called for my bill before answering.

I like to think I'm making good decisions, and it's Adventure Time all the time.

I loved just wandering the canal mazes of Amsterdam in search of Indonesian food. And this was after three days of slowly making my way up the northern Dutch cities, from the Hague to Noordwijk, Leiden, Lisse, and Haarlem. 

Lord, the Haarlem train station was gorgeous. Racing up the stairs through a light drizzle to get to a giant set of silhouetted arches, I couldn't believe I live in Europe. 

I think I repeat this fact to myself at least once a week since I still don't quite believe it yet. 

Wandering tulip fields by Lisse, mmhmm.

The little black moleskine I kept jotting notes in was somehow made less hipster/precious by the fact that we had won it from BeBe Sweetbriar, and it has Kill Your Darlings on it. 

Or is it more?

The reggae in Dampkring was too much, and I definitely lost something with the stoned cat on that orange & pink circus train of a decorative theme. It only took two days and I could see why the Dutch are a cheery people. 

Meeting Talia in Amsterdam was surreal, and I'm so glad we did it.

Incidentally, singing "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey at karaoke while accompanied by five ukelele players has made me realize how you really can't always fake it until you make it. 

Lesson learned. 

In the midst of gorging and unsure why it's happening

I won a three-course meal for four at Honky Tonk. My smiley fellow diners and I had such truckloads of American food. The thing that gets me here is that the winning was from writing a review of a different night where I endlessly consumed buffalo wings. London is ridiculous, where one night I'll be watching people faint as a girl with no hands picks up her father's severed hand with her teeth, having tea and buttered scones at a church cemetery, dancing 'til 3 am in the biggest bear club in the world, or boozing with barristers-to-be in a hall built with wood from a ship of the Spanish Armada. And that's just in the last month.

I do finally feel like I live here now though. It's funny how quickly life here became the new normal, but I'm still enjoying the poop out of it. 

And my flatmate just made me an amazing Greek salad with warmed feta chunklets. Nom nom. Perfect for a hot London evening.

I'm going to Norway next week! It was hard to say no when I spotted £39 flights to Oslo. I'll be sleeping on a train from Oslo to Bergen, riding a boat through a fjord, and hopefully not spending all of my monies on the pricey pricey Norwegian food. I'll give myself bonus points if I can track down some lutefisk: pungent stockfish preserved in lye.

(Title of this post was posted at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam where you wait in line. Meditation kouan?)