Je suis tres tres heureuse.

I am in London, specifically at an easyInternet cafe in Chelsea with my fiance, Marcello Carlin.

It has been a glorious, lovely time here so far, rain (more like sprinkles from heaven) and shine (ditto, only warmer, of course).

The plane ride was a mixture of crampedness, a parade of starches, kids movies and videos, but was made up for by good company and getting to watch the sky grow from two grays to bands of yellow and deep orange and then the pale angelic blue, over the ocean, at about 2am (my time, not the actual time, there are no lines in the sky to tell you where the clock changes, duh.) And then the patchwork, after so many swashes of clouds, of the west country (I think) and then up, up to Londres and down *down* to Gatwick...to much breathlessness and walking walking walking and then a sudden lunchbag letdown of the endless snaking quiet (mostly) tedium of passport control, which in my case at least turned into romantic advice control, HA, imagine me having to explain all this in 5 seconds to someone who is virtually (not literally) shaking her head like she is my mom, and hello, *she's younger than me*, telling me/warning me as if she was a government-appointed chaperone that "just remember that men lie" and me walking away thinking, wow, England still has rude people in charge, same as it ever was...

and then to baggage, and then to Arrivals, where there were people holding up cards and I looked and looked because 15 minutes in Passport Control felt like an eternity, my last Psyche-labor (for now) and there he was.....

Smiling and (I think) crying and I spoke in French as it sounds better than English in such momentous circumstances, warmer, though I switched over to English soon enough...and we got a train and a bus or two and have been inseparable physically (calm down! geez! [okay, yeah, you *know*])since. And it is beyond words. I am so happy that word is carrying more than it can handle, but it will have to do. Joyous; ecstatic, comfortable, cozy, confirmed; if you want to visit (and you should, anyway) the now sacred spot where he asked me, go to Marine Ices on Chalk Farm Road, not 10 minutes from where Plath lived & died, have some ice cream and feel free to whoop with delight...or if you can't go, just have some mind-blowing ice cream and play Sloan *really loud* and that will do.

There is more, much more, but it will have to wait. Yes, it is quick, but in reality, inevitable. As he says, the President of the Immortals is on our side, is guiding us, and I'm sure he is.

Immense love and hugs to you all, wherever you are...