Sitting and waiting

I'm sitting here at terminal A4 at SFO waiting for my plane to take me away to a long-awaited vacation. Mostly vacation. This is my laptop, and it is all full of work. But mostly vacation. I am on my way to London; I have wanted to visit London for many years. Now I am. Five weeks is almost enough time to scratch the surface, I think. My guide book (which is full of its own lists) is packed with my other lists as well. So many lists. Of course, my usual modus operandi is to make copious lists - and then ignore or lose them entirely. In any case, the things that I will see are a distinct set (not always a subset) of the things that I plan to see. That's half the fun.

Well, I know I'm going to visit the Victoria and Albert. I know I'm going to walk a very great deal, and will almost certainly see many things on the way. I know I'm going to visit the British Museum. I know I'm going to visit the National Gallery. And the rest? I know that either on purpose or accidentally I will visit or pass by many, many things. But the most important things are taken care of. I have tickets. I have money. I have credit cards.

I get to: visit all the museums I desire, look in the window of every bookshop I pass, forget to eat, eat weird stuff, be a little silly (or a lot; who knows?), sit in a park all day, drink tea and read a book, visit the same museum 3 days in a row, take a train to nowhere, take a train to somewhere, walk all day and cover my feet with blisters, write postcards in a pub whilst drinking a pint, drink tea whilst eating scones and watching the rain come down (likely), and many many other things.

Currently reading: Rough Guide to London, Rebecca by Daphnis du Maurier, and Forty Signs of Rain by Kim Stanley Robinson. That ought to keep me busy till I get to London. Heh.