Tired of London = Tired of Life

This is the best city in the world.

Yesterday I woke up. In my little house in my Brooklyn-esque East London neighborhood. My cleaning lady came. My neighbor brought my drill back — that I had loaned him. I took the train in to meet Ed for lunch. At a pub from the 1700s. We had wine and steak and strong coffee and Theo had a sausage. I walked through Borough Market, then down by the Thames, tucked into the Tate Modern to hide from a thunderstorm. Did a free kid-friendly interactive Kusama exhibit. Hung out for three hours. For free. Looking at modern art. Left. Walked back. Everyone speaking different languages around me. People boozing. People laughing. Old and new architecture everywhere.

And I just booked a weekend in Barcelona.

And just came from a week in France.

I can get an abortion here.

I can’t get a gun here.

My pregnancy and Theo’s birth cost me $250. Total.

I used to think HK was the place. I used to think NYC was it. Nope. This is.

It’s the spot.