I spent the day walking around London, retracing my drunken steps from the night before and trying to track down my lost belongings. This has been one of those weekends that seriously makes me wonder what the fuck I did to get so much bad karma. Did I inadvertently offend the universe in some horrendous fashion? Or is it just the cruel randomness of the universe?
But all of this bad luck is not unbearable. Bad things happen. I cry a bit and move on.
When you are me, however, bad things tend to morph into sad things. And those don't go away, the things that have you sitting awake at 1:16 AM listening to Bon Iver's For Emma, Forever Ago.
I should be writing my essay but I can't even write a thoughtful blog post at the moment. All I can think about is my mother telling me that I shouldn't have come to England.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
This is no playground fight, it's a battle to the death.
I am seriously considering becoming a hermit. I feel like it would be an ideal lifestyle for me.
Last night at the pub, I got into a very serious debate with a British boy about marriage. It was a weird experience.
Since I live on the third floor and the fridge is in the basement, I've just given up and started drinking my Diet Coke room temperature.
Recently my diet has consisted of three things, and three things only: cole slaw, nutella, and tuna melts. This is not an exaggeration.
I've noticed that British people don't laugh very loudly. This is a problem for me. I just can't control my obnoxious cackle. Every time I laugh people look at me like I've personally offended them in some horrendous fashion.
I miss my dogs.
I have been going into every secondhand bookshop I find just to look for one particular edition of The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides.
I don't really have anything to blog about. I haven't done much writing beyond my essays. Most of my time is spent watching old episodes of The West Wing, reading, and getting drunk.
Last night at the pub, I got into a very serious debate with a British boy about marriage. It was a weird experience.
Since I live on the third floor and the fridge is in the basement, I've just given up and started drinking my Diet Coke room temperature.
Recently my diet has consisted of three things, and three things only: cole slaw, nutella, and tuna melts. This is not an exaggeration.
I've noticed that British people don't laugh very loudly. This is a problem for me. I just can't control my obnoxious cackle. Every time I laugh people look at me like I've personally offended them in some horrendous fashion.
I miss my dogs.
I have been going into every secondhand bookshop I find just to look for one particular edition of The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides.
I don't really have anything to blog about. I haven't done much writing beyond my essays. Most of my time is spent watching old episodes of The West Wing, reading, and getting drunk.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
So I won't be a burden of tomorrow, dear
Living across the street from a pub makes me sad. I realise* that this is an odd reaction. Most people would be excited for the convenient access to alcohol. Or I suppose there are people who would be annoyed by the loud, drunken people standing outside their window every night. But I am me. Weird things make me sad.
Here are my thoughts: I am sitting alone on my bed as I write. I don't even have music playing. My room is small and messy because there just isn't enough room for all of my shit. And I've put no decorations on my walls. There is one small window covered with beige curtains to match the beige walls. The room is lit by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling - no treatment to go with it, no sconce or shade or covering; it's just a plain light bulb. I don't mind.
But outside my window I can hear the sounds of happy people at the pub. People are laughing and talking as they smoke their cigarettes on the sidewalk. They are young and pretty and dressed nicely. Pubs in Oxford aren't like college bars in America. No one is shitfaced and yelling. The girls aren't scantily clad. Ed Hardy t-shirts are few and far between (at least at the pub I observe every night).
And this scene from my life is making me sad. I don't really know why.
Other things on my mind (in list form because I like to make lists of my thoughts):
1. Generally, I don't mind not having a phone. It's not intentional. I'm not one of those annoying people that is trying to be free and peaceful in the present or whatever. I just have crappy luck. But I've survived almost a month now without a phone and, although it has been very inconvenient at times, I haven't been too upset about it. At the moment, the worst part about not having a phone is that I have no alarm clock.
2. You know how you always dread that phone call out of the blue when someone you love is in the hospital? That phone call is the worst thing in the whole entire world. It's just plain awful. Well, when you live overseas and don't have a phone...you just get an e-mail a few day later. And the loved one is all, "So two days ago I was rushed to the hospital because of my heart 'thingy.' No biggie."** And you sit in your bedroom, an ocean away, gazing in horror at your computer screen. The e-mails goes on to talk about boy problems, but you can't read any more of it because all that's going through your head are memories of the time this particular loved one almost died at a party because of her heart 'thingy' over the summer. And you just can't stop remembering how awful it was to be there when your best friend was unconscious and not breathing. But this time you weren't there. And you just find out from a casual e-mail days later.
3. I have officially stopped converting everything from pounds to dollars in my head. This was completely necessary. I am going to be here for a long time. I have to just accept the fact that the American dollar is shit. I was poor in American. I am even poorer in England.
4. I know I should be blogging more about how much fun England is. I should be writing up posts about all the fun things I'm doing in Oxford. I should put up pictures. This is an adventure. I should document it. But I just can't be bothered. Also, that's all crap. Yes, I'm having fun and yes, I love it here. But I've also been working a lot and I've been sick. I haven't had many adventures. It's not new and exciting anymore. It's just another school.
*Since I am in England, the online spell-checker just corrected my American spelling. I don't know how I feel about this. This is one of the weirdest experiences I've had since moving to England. Everything here is so similar to America, just a little different.
** Exact quote from e-mail: "I sort of had to go to the hospital on Sunday night because of a thingie. Really it wasn't that big, they just wanted to make sure I hadn't upgraded to heart attack because I didn't wake up for a while." Thanks, Jocie. Nearly gave me a heart attack. ["sort of had to go to the hospital" - you can't sort of go to the hospital, you just GO, it's all or nothing]
Here are my thoughts: I am sitting alone on my bed as I write. I don't even have music playing. My room is small and messy because there just isn't enough room for all of my shit. And I've put no decorations on my walls. There is one small window covered with beige curtains to match the beige walls. The room is lit by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling - no treatment to go with it, no sconce or shade or covering; it's just a plain light bulb. I don't mind.
But outside my window I can hear the sounds of happy people at the pub. People are laughing and talking as they smoke their cigarettes on the sidewalk. They are young and pretty and dressed nicely. Pubs in Oxford aren't like college bars in America. No one is shitfaced and yelling. The girls aren't scantily clad. Ed Hardy t-shirts are few and far between (at least at the pub I observe every night).
And this scene from my life is making me sad. I don't really know why.
Other things on my mind (in list form because I like to make lists of my thoughts):
1. Generally, I don't mind not having a phone. It's not intentional. I'm not one of those annoying people that is trying to be free and peaceful in the present or whatever. I just have crappy luck. But I've survived almost a month now without a phone and, although it has been very inconvenient at times, I haven't been too upset about it. At the moment, the worst part about not having a phone is that I have no alarm clock.
2. You know how you always dread that phone call out of the blue when someone you love is in the hospital? That phone call is the worst thing in the whole entire world. It's just plain awful. Well, when you live overseas and don't have a phone...you just get an e-mail a few day later. And the loved one is all, "So two days ago I was rushed to the hospital because of my heart 'thingy.' No biggie."** And you sit in your bedroom, an ocean away, gazing in horror at your computer screen. The e-mails goes on to talk about boy problems, but you can't read any more of it because all that's going through your head are memories of the time this particular loved one almost died at a party because of her heart 'thingy' over the summer. And you just can't stop remembering how awful it was to be there when your best friend was unconscious and not breathing. But this time you weren't there. And you just find out from a casual e-mail days later.
3. I have officially stopped converting everything from pounds to dollars in my head. This was completely necessary. I am going to be here for a long time. I have to just accept the fact that the American dollar is shit. I was poor in American. I am even poorer in England.
4. I know I should be blogging more about how much fun England is. I should be writing up posts about all the fun things I'm doing in Oxford. I should put up pictures. This is an adventure. I should document it. But I just can't be bothered. Also, that's all crap. Yes, I'm having fun and yes, I love it here. But I've also been working a lot and I've been sick. I haven't had many adventures. It's not new and exciting anymore. It's just another school.
*Since I am in England, the online spell-checker just corrected my American spelling. I don't know how I feel about this. This is one of the weirdest experiences I've had since moving to England. Everything here is so similar to America, just a little different.
** Exact quote from e-mail: "I sort of had to go to the hospital on Sunday night because of a thingie. Really it wasn't that big, they just wanted to make sure I hadn't upgraded to heart attack because I didn't wake up for a while." Thanks, Jocie. Nearly gave me a heart attack. ["sort of had to go to the hospital" - you can't sort of go to the hospital, you just GO, it's all or nothing]
Monday, October 3, 2011
There were moments of dreams I was offered to save...
Thoughts From Oxford Part One
Perhaps this will sound obvious to everyone else but me, but one of the most surprising parts of moving abroad has been the feeling of NOW. I am a person that is constantly caught up in her thoughts. I relive the past, I plan the future, I consider the absurd, and I keep up a silent ongoing rant about the shittiness of everything and everyone. In general, if you ever see me sitting quietly by myself, perhaps writing or just staring off into space as I am wont to do, then I am no doubt doing one of the above.
Since coming to Oxford, however, I have found my wandering thoughts acquiring focus. I have been living in the now and it's a new feeling. I can savor experiences as they happen, basking in the moments as they pass. Every second is pulsing with possibility and I want to uncover it all. For the first time, the "now" is full of enough feeling to hold my focus. And yet...it isn't a perfect change, of course it could never be. I am living in the moment but there is something missing. Sometimes I can go about and ignore the feeling completely, but I can't experience the here and now without acknowledging the existence of few wisps of gray. This "now" feels wonderful and new, but I can't live in the midst of such history without feeling its absence in my life. Oxford is all history. I cannot come to this city and live only in the present. "Now" can never be enough. To believe solely in the present is to be blind.
I've spoken a lot about the power of leaving. I felt strengthened by the act of it, the self-agency of my choice. But here's what I've realized: As much as leaving is letting go, it is also a loss. I cannot mourn and wallow for too long but it is still a loss. And let's just be honest for a second, it's a loss that I has been haunting me. And now, I am sitting right in the middle of it all. The emptiness surrounds me. My awareness of the now is bittersweet because I cannot live in this moment without feeling the emptiness of this eerie loss.
I know there are people who are suffering from truly enormous loss - death and tragedy. My feeling of emptiness is terribly insignificant in comparison. But it is real to me. My loss is this: I gave up a life I had loved, I gave up the person that I used to be. Yes, I'm moving onto better and brighter things. That old life, that person I used to be - well, it wasn't that great. But I can still feel the loss. It was everything I knew.
It's going to take a while to fill up all the empty space. But already I am starting to gather new things to fill it up. Every day in Oxford I am amid beautiful history and architecture. I cannot even attempt to describe the solemn beauty of this city, it is breathtaking and perfect in its air of casual elegance. Even the air in this city feels as if it holds the great thoughts of those that came before.
I walk into my college (aptly named New College - it was founded in 1379 but to me the name is just right because this is the new phase of my life) and I feel that there is something to be discovered there. I am proud to be a member of New College. It has a distinguished history and maybe my "new" life in this here and now will add just a little bit to its history. I don't think I'll be remembered as one of its famous alumni, but I hope that I will leave something, even just the tiniest shadow of remembrance. The college's stone walls are old and resilient and imbued with its students' memories. I don't need to leave any living trace or tangible artifact of my time here - I feel, oddly enough, as if the college itself (the stones and the vines and the great wooden doors) will remember. Maybe I can let my loss fade into my history as I fade into the lustrous history of this noble city.
Perhaps this will sound obvious to everyone else but me, but one of the most surprising parts of moving abroad has been the feeling of NOW. I am a person that is constantly caught up in her thoughts. I relive the past, I plan the future, I consider the absurd, and I keep up a silent ongoing rant about the shittiness of everything and everyone. In general, if you ever see me sitting quietly by myself, perhaps writing or just staring off into space as I am wont to do, then I am no doubt doing one of the above.
Since coming to Oxford, however, I have found my wandering thoughts acquiring focus. I have been living in the now and it's a new feeling. I can savor experiences as they happen, basking in the moments as they pass. Every second is pulsing with possibility and I want to uncover it all. For the first time, the "now" is full of enough feeling to hold my focus. And yet...it isn't a perfect change, of course it could never be. I am living in the moment but there is something missing. Sometimes I can go about and ignore the feeling completely, but I can't experience the here and now without acknowledging the existence of few wisps of gray. This "now" feels wonderful and new, but I can't live in the midst of such history without feeling its absence in my life. Oxford is all history. I cannot come to this city and live only in the present. "Now" can never be enough. To believe solely in the present is to be blind.
I've spoken a lot about the power of leaving. I felt strengthened by the act of it, the self-agency of my choice. But here's what I've realized: As much as leaving is letting go, it is also a loss. I cannot mourn and wallow for too long but it is still a loss. And let's just be honest for a second, it's a loss that I has been haunting me. And now, I am sitting right in the middle of it all. The emptiness surrounds me. My awareness of the now is bittersweet because I cannot live in this moment without feeling the emptiness of this eerie loss.
I know there are people who are suffering from truly enormous loss - death and tragedy. My feeling of emptiness is terribly insignificant in comparison. But it is real to me. My loss is this: I gave up a life I had loved, I gave up the person that I used to be. Yes, I'm moving onto better and brighter things. That old life, that person I used to be - well, it wasn't that great. But I can still feel the loss. It was everything I knew.
It's going to take a while to fill up all the empty space. But already I am starting to gather new things to fill it up. Every day in Oxford I am amid beautiful history and architecture. I cannot even attempt to describe the solemn beauty of this city, it is breathtaking and perfect in its air of casual elegance. Even the air in this city feels as if it holds the great thoughts of those that came before.
I walk into my college (aptly named New College - it was founded in 1379 but to me the name is just right because this is the new phase of my life) and I feel that there is something to be discovered there. I am proud to be a member of New College. It has a distinguished history and maybe my "new" life in this here and now will add just a little bit to its history. I don't think I'll be remembered as one of its famous alumni, but I hope that I will leave something, even just the tiniest shadow of remembrance. The college's stone walls are old and resilient and imbued with its students' memories. I don't need to leave any living trace or tangible artifact of my time here - I feel, oddly enough, as if the college itself (the stones and the vines and the great wooden doors) will remember. Maybe I can let my loss fade into my history as I fade into the lustrous history of this noble city.
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