Arrivals, Excitement, and Rain

"I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as free as air -- or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will permit a man to be. Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained."

My name is Annika Kohlmeier. I'm twenty years old. I love cats, science fiction, fantasy, popcorn treats, and cult movies.  This is my blog. 

I rarely know how to start any writing project, but one of the few great lessons I've learned about myself is this: if I allow myself to agonize over the most perfect way to begin a story, well, the page is going to remain blank, the little blinking cursor is going to keeping taunting me, and nothing will be accomplished. Starting, even starting badly, is still something. 

I don't have the perfect words and I don't have all night to find them, so this is going to have to suffice.

I intend to explain what I'm doing writing anything at all, but before I can do that I feel that I must offer up some small explanation of my person, so that the significance of the "why" won't be lost on you, Reader (to pull a Jane Eyre). 

When I was 8 years old, I informed my mother that, for Halloween, I wanted to dress up as the beheaded corpse of Anne Boleyn. Anne was the second wife of the King Henry VIII (the second of six, incidentally) and the mother of Queen Elizabeth I of England. I had become something of an amateur anglophile when, by chance, my mother gave me a book about the life of the young Queen Elizabeth I as a second grader. My imagination was immediately and completely captured.

 My plan was to wear a long black dress, construct a "bloody stump" that could be worn to conceal my still-attached cranium, and then make a papier-mâché head to carry around and complete the effect. I didn't want to be a witch. I didn't want to be a fairy or a devil or a princess. I wanted to be the headless corpse of Anne Boleyn, and I was. I'm sure that there's a picture floating around the family archives somewhere. 

This story is pretty illustrative of my childhood. 

The Beatles, Sherlock Holmes, The Clash, Harry Potter, Tea-Drinking, Finger Sandwiches, Austen, Dickens, Sweaters, Shakespeare, and The Once and Future King. These are a few of my favorite things--to say nothing of my ongoing fascination with Elizabeth I and the women whose lives, and tragedies, made her rather extraordinary life possible. 

Can you understand now, Reader, why I'm beyond ecstatic to be spending three months studying at University College Long right in the heart of Central London? 

Just this week, I packed most of my life's possessions in a single suit-case, bid farewell to my precious kitties and corgi, hugged my brothers, cried a little, and got on a plane, not to return to my beloved Boise (or my home away from home, Wellesley College) for three months.

Koshka the kitten and myself.

Today was my first day in London. Naturally, it rained. 

My parents will be here with me for the next 8 days, helping me settle in and touring with me some of the sights of London. Today we didn't accomplish much more than finding our hotel, wandering around Kensington in the rain, and getting a bite (yes, predictably, boringly, but also satisfyingly, I had fish and chips) in a pub. 

Tomorrow, however, the adventures begin in earnest, and I will be able to make my personal pilgrimages to Tower Green (where Anne Boleyn lost her head) and Westminster Abbey (where Elizabeth I is buried next to her sister, but more on that later). 

For now, however, it's raining and I need to try to get with the program of this time zone, so this is me signing off. Catch you later, space cowboys.