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In another life I would be in Edinburgh tonight, probably weaving gently down the Royal Mile after Lashings of Ginger Beer.
But it's early evening here, still hot, and, well, I'm not. I'm sitting in my apartment at the end of a very busy weekend cleaning, tidying, unpacking, sorting and looking the wrong way when crossing the street, and I have nothing to do until nine o'clock tomorrow morning.
What to even say, then? My apartment is teeny tiny, but lovely. It's a ground floor one-bedroom apartment, and I'm waiting for the catch - it's nice, quiet, and cheaper than the cheapest studio on-campus graduate place - and it has a little bedroom with a little bed and desk and a little kitchen with a teeny stovetop and a teeny living-space with a big ugly sofa. I have my postcards and pictures and calendar up, and it looks homely for all there are only eight books in it.
I'm doing okay, too. On Saturday I went food shopping. It was... a little overhelming. It was very large. It had a LOT of stuff I have never heard of. Oh, it was very large. Can I even encompass how large it was without flapping my hands about and saying "oh, it was large!" I have never thought of Cowley Road Tesco with fondness before. Anyway, so, I went to what I am told is a perfectly ordinary grocery store, and looked for things like cherry tomatoes and bread and cheese and honey and cereal and tins of soup, and it was all going, if not fine, then bearably, until I tried to buy milk. I only put milk in my coffee; otherwise I don't drink it. Even when I was de facto living with Shim, we only got through one pint a week.
...one pint. Given that I didn't want soy milk, rice milk, lactose-free milk or vitamin-D-enriched milk, or organic milk, or milk from local farms, and I wanted it to be full-fat or whole or blue milk, depending on what you call it, I couldn't find a bottle with less than six pints.
I took a very deep breath and got over it and picked up two pints of organic milk instead, and tossed it into the trolley and headed to the checkout. Where a chirpy woman chirpily said, "I think you'll find this is the ten items or less line!"
Because I am well-balanced, and not at all rattled by my new surroundings, I shrieked, "Ten items or FEWER!" and ran metaphorically into the night.
Other than that I'm doing fine. I have a sunflower in a pot on my desk and some idea of what I'm doing tomorrow, and I want to take a quiet moment to tell you all how much I adore you and am grateful for you; I wouldn't have been so sad to leave if I had had nothing to leave behind. Thank you for sending me playlists and stories and good-luck messages, thank you for putting me up on your sofas and taking me around your cities and not minding when I cry all over you; thank you for being you and wanting me to be me. If I return from this year with half the numer of new friends and experiences that I had at Oxford, then it will be more than a success.
Have some music, ( for a thank-you. )
Tomorrow, orientation; now, dinner.
But it's early evening here, still hot, and, well, I'm not. I'm sitting in my apartment at the end of a very busy weekend cleaning, tidying, unpacking, sorting and looking the wrong way when crossing the street, and I have nothing to do until nine o'clock tomorrow morning.
What to even say, then? My apartment is teeny tiny, but lovely. It's a ground floor one-bedroom apartment, and I'm waiting for the catch - it's nice, quiet, and cheaper than the cheapest studio on-campus graduate place - and it has a little bedroom with a little bed and desk and a little kitchen with a teeny stovetop and a teeny living-space with a big ugly sofa. I have my postcards and pictures and calendar up, and it looks homely for all there are only eight books in it.
I'm doing okay, too. On Saturday I went food shopping. It was... a little overhelming. It was very large. It had a LOT of stuff I have never heard of. Oh, it was very large. Can I even encompass how large it was without flapping my hands about and saying "oh, it was large!" I have never thought of Cowley Road Tesco with fondness before. Anyway, so, I went to what I am told is a perfectly ordinary grocery store, and looked for things like cherry tomatoes and bread and cheese and honey and cereal and tins of soup, and it was all going, if not fine, then bearably, until I tried to buy milk. I only put milk in my coffee; otherwise I don't drink it. Even when I was de facto living with Shim, we only got through one pint a week.
...one pint. Given that I didn't want soy milk, rice milk, lactose-free milk or vitamin-D-enriched milk, or organic milk, or milk from local farms, and I wanted it to be full-fat or whole or blue milk, depending on what you call it, I couldn't find a bottle with less than six pints.
I took a very deep breath and got over it and picked up two pints of organic milk instead, and tossed it into the trolley and headed to the checkout. Where a chirpy woman chirpily said, "I think you'll find this is the ten items or less line!"
Because I am well-balanced, and not at all rattled by my new surroundings, I shrieked, "Ten items or FEWER!" and ran metaphorically into the night.
Other than that I'm doing fine. I have a sunflower in a pot on my desk and some idea of what I'm doing tomorrow, and I want to take a quiet moment to tell you all how much I adore you and am grateful for you; I wouldn't have been so sad to leave if I had had nothing to leave behind. Thank you for sending me playlists and stories and good-luck messages, thank you for putting me up on your sofas and taking me around your cities and not minding when I cry all over you; thank you for being you and wanting me to be me. If I return from this year with half the numer of new friends and experiences that I had at Oxford, then it will be more than a success.
Have some music, ( for a thank-you. )
Tomorrow, orientation; now, dinner.