I think the above picture captures a multiplicity of my emotions at the moment:
1) The raised eyebrow says, "Where on earth am I? British-land in Disneyland?"
2) The white metal bars say, "I can't go back to America?"
3) The sweater-vest says, "Yes, I am in England."
This morning, I woke up and imagining myself to be in America began to panic. "Why is it so gloomy?! Why is it so cold? Why am I laying on a matress with bad springs?!" Somewhere between struggling to my feet and putting on a pair of pants I realized that I was no longer in California, but Oxford, England. Besides everything being twice as expensive, I've met quite a few friendly townsfolk and had a pint of All Around with an Anglican priest. I'm determined no longer to be dubbed "half-pint Pearson," and Father Peter was more than happy to see such a goal-driven young man.
After mass I decided to go to a nearby department store named "Boswell" and attempted to buy laundry detergent and a plastic basket. Being more than lost, I proceeded to the cashier and asked him where I might be able to find such products. I am proud to say that after having helped me, I said to him, "Thank you. Cheers guv." Needless to say, I am eager to experience British culture.
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