I’m not as good at writing in my blog or my journal when I have term papers to write. My usual writing style during term paper season alternates between wine and coffee to somehow revise my way to a finished product. I must confess that I am three glasses into the former and this might affect my writing, both in direction and spelling (which is never my strong suit even stone cold sober). My glasses, amusingly, are not wine glasses but former Nutella jars, the 200g glass ones they sell here, cleaned after use and repurposed. I tell myself that they’re smaller than wine glasses, that one and a half Nutella jars equal a standard glass of wine.
I’m a graduate student. It’s what we do.
It’s been awhile.
As I write this, I have failed in my attempt to finish or mostly finish the two drafts of my term papers before Candace arrives tomorrow morning. Tomorrow around 8:30 am I will be sitting at the train station waiting for someone who I hope to bicker with when we’re eighty years old and in nursing homes. We will probably bicker over tea (being too old for caffeine), or over letters if we don’t end up in the same damn nursing home.
I do not expect to get a whole lot done when she is here, which leaves only a week to get those pesky term papers into tip top shape. We’ll see how well that goes.
To update you on lots and lots of things since Amsterdam…
Well, first off, Luke and I broke up. He moved to San Francisco after our Greece trip and it turns out that an eight hour time difference is really rough. It’s really hard to maintain a relationship where most of your conversations happen at bedtime for one person and wake up time for another. Not a situation conducive to conversation. The distance, among other things, the sort of things that make you question your own values and identity in a face of a relationship.
It is both a blessing and a curse that I can appear to roll on forward after such things. I think it gives the impression that my heart is no more bruised than it was at the beginning of it, which is not true.
At this point in my life, with all that scar tissue from previous relationships, from changes made that I should not have, from words said that cannot be unsaid, from things being nearly there* and yet having just one or two aspects being out of sync, I’m kind of surprised I still have room for more scars.
So I roll on. I flirt with new people, I forge new relationships of varying degrees. I wait for the stitches made on some psychic level to dissolve and hope the scar tissue isn’t too bad when they do.
Vitamin E doesn’t work for the scars that matter, and the scars that matter aren’t the ones you ask me about.
Beyond that bit of morose drama, other parts of my life roll on as well, in a decidedly positive manner.
I have a plane ticket to return to the United States on May 20th. I landed a part time summer internship I really wanted in both the field (policy/government affairs) and the subject (immigration/refugee) that I wanted. My dissertation is on U.S. policy immigration policy anyway, so I can do research in the various universities around D.C. while I’m interning in what I basically want to be doing after this all. Furthermore, being in D.C. means I can get a head start on the Real Job Hunt, something that would be hindered by a U.K. location.
While I touch down in the U.S. on the evening of the 20th, I actually leave the United Kingdom on the 15th of May. Five days of “relaxing” in Reykjavik, Iceland are planned. These days include a glacier hike, whale watching, relaxing in the blue lagoon, eating puffins and whale, and riding horses. The last of which I have actually never done. I have ridden elephants and camels but never a horse.
And so, I raise my fourth glass of wine. To the future. To dissolving stitches, to rolling on, to gathering no moss. And finally, to cheap Sainsburys brand wine.
*And by there I mean that thing people look for on the long term, that click where it slides into place and just feels right.