I have no bees in my bonnet - just here in the bibliotheque (can't spell French words, blarg) reading about snow globes and teddy bears.
Being back at Goldsmiths is very strange though, so many little things are the same; the paintings in the stairwell of the library, Essentials convenience store, Southern Fried Chicken. All a little too familiar for me to relax in just yet, there are a lot of very distant memories - was I really an acetate version of myself then, or is it the fug of memory?
I think that these memories are so connected to my ex-husband, and friends I only see once every tow years, add to their fadedness. Somehow though, it isn't sad because this place is becoming a part of my current life, and there are fresher memories - is this Sturken's repetition? Is it healing?
I certainly don't have any souvenirs.
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