i'll use a pop song to clear my name.

London is both lovely and grey today. What I saw: soldiers practicing being soldiers, complete with orders yelled and drums banged, rigid movements and tall furry black hats at the Chelsea barracks; two garishly painted bridges; dozens of small schoolboys in bright red sweatshirts and sweatpants running around fields in Battersea Park; dogs running all over the green, all getting along and the happiest creatures alive; girls giggling in long grey toggle coats and black tights on the Circle line; the periwinkle flat where George Orwell used to live on Portobello Rd.; shores of the Thames that felt more San Francisco marsh than London city riverbank, complete with a blue heron; 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.'

Despite these things, personal matters have taken a downward turn. I fling myself into trying to handle this as maturely as possible. Don't know if I've ever been good at knowing how to be mature. I don't want things like this in London. I've still got this idealized version of it. Thank goodness I have Jenny Lewis right here by my side.

Much love.