Brighton, Border Patrol and the Bodhi Tree

If you love the idea of traveling Europe and seeing London- you’ll love staying home! That’s because the border patrol in the UK are a bunch of U-cunts. I mean it, not just for alliteration. I guess the woman officer must have had an intuition for all the smack up my... luggage- my leg luggage, folks! EEEE ahhh EEEE ahhh (like a donkey braying and a woman enjoying a good shower) [very clever]

Actually, their biggest concern with me, was that I was going to be working. I felt like saying “look, I don’t even LIKE working.” That’s a lie though- I love it. I can’t get enough, which is why I went to Brighton, England for 9 days (although I am going to have to cut my trip short to get back to Paris to start working) to work. I’m not a lawyer here or anything weird like that. I am just doing the old drug mule thing and washing that back with a few stiff hand jobs at reasonable prices: immigrant hand jobs.

PS I am not really a prostitute guys... Not with my authority issues.

I brought more authority issues with me through border patrol than socks, so any attitude I got was upon myself, but I tried to imagine brown nosing an immigration officer, my compliments would probably come out more like this:

ME: Your ears look like you’ve had them pierced for a long time.

HER: Why are you here?

ME: I should ask you the same question [wink].

I almost didn’t make it in to the UK and told her to just send me back to America. I actually said this. Q: Where do I get off?! A: I got off in Brighton and was looking forward to a relaxing couple days by the sea. I was excited to eat fish and chips. I left my wallet on the bus.

I LEFT MY WALLET ON THE BUS! [I’m yelling at you now]

I managed to have £115 shipped to me via Western Union. That has to last me two weeks until a new card can get to me. So, I have to seriously get on the jerk train to Nob Town, where I get paid for my seat, but at discount prices because I didn’t bring the right clothes and body spray/ glitter. I look like a bouncer at a brothel more than a lady of the night.

To illustrate the last week for perspective; I booked the ticket to Brighton because I lost my job in Paris for locking myself out of the employer’s house while they were on vacation. It cost €300 ($432) to get through the antiquity of the home’s steal door. They changed their mind the same day and said I could stay. I told them to not pay me until the door was paid off. This was a fine idea, at the time, because I could manage and felt compelled to be accountable. I couldn’t bear telling them that after locking myself out of their house, I left my wallet on a bus on my way to escape the reality of Paris for 5 days before I returned happily and responsibly to work. No, just leave your kids with me- forget that I will probably forget their limbs in the elevator shaft... what's the big deal? Don't those regenerate until their bones have calcified?

Now, I am in Brighton going through a series of transformative meditations with an experienced guide (what are YOU doing? eating?!). I have realized what a cunt I’ve been and how I have pushed so many people out of my life to keep from having to be anything but self involved and some other things too. I don’t know that the realization has taken hold quite yet- still feel pretty into myself and relatively unhappy. However, I also did a rebirth, which burned- it was the most uncomfortable thing I have ever done. My ego is like top grade smack and burning through that/ detoxing was physically painful... could never have done that on my own. Afterward I floated in a pool of consciousness that I didn’t deserve to swim in. I still don’t. However, I’ve swam in it and not many people get a chance to do that, so I feel humbled and honestly, a little superior to everybody else who can’t seem to get there. Why aren’t I happy yet? What are you eating?!