left right left

everyone knows that in england, the british like to be ever so slightly different. they like to have their own obnoxiously expensive currency. they like to have tea and crumpets (and sometimes trumpets) at very certain hours of the afternoon, and they like to say rubbish instead of trash. because they think they are special. fine, i will give them these things, even though they are not special in any way shape or form. but why must they insist on driving their cars on the completely wrong side of the street? they cannot say that it is the "right" way, because the rest of the world, THE REST OF THE WORLD, says no, you snooty english bastards, you are just doing it to once again say "yes, indeed, we are much better than you. pffft to the world and their 'normal' driving habits." now really, it is fine, i am getting used to it, mostly. but not really. what is most frustrating is that i am sort of a moron. because you see, the english at least try to make sure the visitors to their island do not get mowed down by speeding red buses or insane taxi drivers, by writing on the sidewalk "look left" and "look right." sadly, being a moron, i cannot tell left from right. this is one of many reasons the drivers license has not been obtained by ms. katherine peterson hurwitz. you see, parallel parking was rarely my problem--it was mostly the "please turn left at this-----holy fuck watch that truck" and then a miraculous death defying swerve, and then the look of despair from the poor instructor. i try the whole putting up my two hands and making the l, but really i feel embarrassed because i am twenty, not four (although some would beg to differ). so i have come close to death about, well, everytime i cross a street in this wet town. today was most terrifying, because i thought i had the street free and clear to myself, and i was so proud of looking the right way when, i hear a loud loud honk and two lights coming straight towards me. i let out a might eep and then jumped directly into a puddle, which let me tell you is not as fun as mr. gene kelly makes it out to be.

so now i have taken to shaking my head back and forth sort of compulsively to make sure i don't lose my life on a london street, so that passers by probably think that i have some sort of disorder that makes me somewhat twitchy---but really, people probably thought that before i commenced my seizure-esque nodding. i think my inability to tell left from right stems from the overarching inability to make any decision whatsoever. which was brought to a very embaressing forefront today when i had to choose whether or not to be a full english student (taking horrid terrifying classes such as chaucer and romantics, not fun), or some slightly bullshitty sounding european cultural studies (taking a postmodern class and a film class, hehe...oh film). it was a simple decision, it really was, but is anything ever simple with baby kate? no. because she is a baby. and in america, it is okay for her to be a baby, because america babies the children, and allows them to question and wonder what COULD be, and basically kill themselves in the endless process of indecision instead of saying, look. buck up. and decide for gods sakes. well, this englishman, who had a very funny name (bas aarts), said "look, i'm sorry ms. whoeveryouname is, but you will have to inform me of your decision within the hour, so please do so. thank you." i gave him the deer in headlights look that would have worked on any american professor, i seeked advice, but he just looked at me and said "one hour." and i paced, and smoked ten cigarettes, and asked about four poor strangers who happened to be wandering through the department what they thought i should do. i had about a 3 and a half to 2 vote to go for half-half. and then i thought, what the fucking hell is wrong with me, it does not fucking matter what decision you make you are just wasting precisous moments of this day. and then i looked back and i thought about all the time i had wasted not being able to make decisions, and i calculated that approximated that about one year of my life had been wasted by indecision. i regretted this fact, and then remembered that it was not as bad as the 15 years i was skimming off my life by smoking my cancer canes. so, i triumphantly made my decision (i am taking shakespeare, modern lit, european film, and postmodern--which has a seminar about KITSCH, amazing) and then of course, continued to commit suicide avec mes gauloises.

and now, i must go to a bar with some medical students. this is very strange. but perhaps the experience will make for a more interesting blog than the one i have just posted.