This greyness does not suit me. Rainy days have always brought to mind captivity, almost a sort of helplessness. They take the fight out of me, and I just want to curl up with a book and a cup of tea. Going out into the drizzle is a last resort. This sort of weather makes me sedentary and melancholy. Lying around gives me plenty of time to brood about the situations going on in my life and those of others. Perhaps England wasn't the best place for me to come.

But I do actually like it here. It's just what I imagined, only with a bit more drinking. Central London is bustling and filled to the brim with everyone imaginable, but the edges of London are quieter. The area I live in is quite picturesque. Two-story duplexes fill a small cul-de-sac, their white plaster and brick facades accented beautifully by green hedges and trees. I know I'm incredibly blessed to live in such a neighborhood. It's actually just what I hoped for; it exceeded my expectations, especially the ones I had after I arrived. I haven't been nearly grateful enough so far. I worried that my relationship with God would start to wane once I got here, and I'm sad to say that I was right. It's my fault, of course. I know that. It's still frustrating, though. I was starting to feel as if I had finally begun progressing by the time I left home. I'd forgotten how hard it is for me to hold on to Him when situations get a bit difficult. It's hard for me to admit, but quite often a relationship with God is something that I'm not willing to fight for. I think that's what's happened in the past, anyway -- I just let go. I don't really want to, though, and so I recently got in contact with the Christian Union, and I also went to church on my own last Sunday. It's especially hard to do this because I'm not feeling God right now. It's strange, actually. I can see what God's done for me: a wonderful room (I even had my choice of rooms), an opportunity to delve into the visual arts, a safe trip into a country I've never seen before, contact with some of the most helpful people I've ever met, and an odd calm strong enough to keep me reasonable even when lost in London (which has happened several times already). I'm incredibly blessed, yet I'm still not satisfied. I'm also feeling the familiar guilt. Something's off. But what, and how do I fix it? I'm not giving up yet, but the lack of direction is unsettling.