It's hard to know which Sondheim lyric to believe. In A Little Night Music, he tells us it's "bad for the heart." And yet, Mrs. Lovett persuades Sweeney Todd that "good things come to those who can... wait."
A pall of uncertainty about jobs (or the lack thereof) has been hanging over my head for uncomfortably long now. Do pardon my silence here, as I have had other fingernails to gnaw.
Life has trundled on, however. Teriann and I took a fantastic trip to Slovenia to celebrate our second anniversary (more on that soon, of course) and this weekend was an excellent Fourth of July weekend. We spent Saturday night with the flatmates (the usual shenanigans ensued, of course) and Sunday evening at the Abbey with Graeme and other assorted Americans (mostly clergy, but one gentleman who builds sets for West End musicals).
And I graduate on Friday, a milestone that does not seem nearly as significant as I would have guessed. My last one felt like an event, a rite of passage; this feels more like a ceremony.
I sincerely hope that I have better news to report when I write here again. This blog has somewhat unexpectedly turned into a litany of travel blurbs rather than what I intended: a place to air my esoteric and ponderous views about music, culture, and whatever else happens to pop in my mind. Recent topics that have been spared this prolonged scrutiny include the world-cup-vuvuzela-madness (I'm completely hooked — Teriann and I are talking about going to the 2014 Cup in Rio), my layman's theory of time (it's really just movement, whether it's light or gravity or walking), and the 1-year anniversary of Adam's trip to visit us (I miss you, bro... I'll never watch Wimbledon the same).
In the meantime, then, here's to looking ahead.