Now set [my] long-experienced wit to school

Um. *blinks*

The basic stuff: I've arrived in England, safely. The flight was no more miserable than flights usually are. I have made it to campus, unpacked my suitcases, and settled into my dorm room. Okay, I'll be even more settled once my books get here, but I have unpacked everything and put up pictures on my wall and put my clothes away and brushed my teeth. I crash landed on my bet at about 7:40 and slept a full nine hours. My dehydrated-migraine headache is finally gone (knock wood).

And I'm not really able to think in complete sentences. All my little thoughts are separate.

Thoughts like: Why doesn't my dorm have any toilet paper? And is it my job to buy some? 'Cause I live here with nine other people, and we all share toilets.

And: This campus is huge, and very pretty but kind of scary in its ginormousness.

And: I am truly back in a dorm, and this is weirding me out a little. Even if it does have a kitchen, it is still a dorm.

And: I miss my books and I hope they get here soon.

And: I am lonely here.

And: It was a beautiful day today, but how long will it last?

And: I'm going to really like this campus except it's huge and I don't know my way around.

And: I want to meet people, but it is hard because I get more shy when I am tired.

And: I know I overpack, but thank God for all my stuff because otherwise I would be courting depression. (How shallow!)

And: I want this week of "induction" (would it kill you guys to add the extra syllable? "Tro," ladies and gents. Three little letters) to be over so I can just get used to being here already instead of being discombobulated.

And: I think I need more sleep.

And that is all the thinks I can think right now.


I Must to England; You Know That?

My room gets steadily barer and barer. My books are gone - moved into Mom's basement today. (Well done, me.) Tonight I have taken my posters off the walls. Knickknacks are getting packed up. Half my furniture is going out on Sunday. Mom and I went shopping today (THANK YOU MOM) and I got the most adorable knee-length wool pea coat ever. I am really and truly going, you guys.

As my date of departure approaches, my blind fear is retreating. Doctor Who has helped with that (I get to go to Christopher Eccleston's country? Awesome). So has, in an odd way, packing itself. I loathe packing, but once I really get going it's sort of horribly familiar, and I can get into its creepy mindset. Take with, save, throw out. Take with, save, throw out. I'm shipping an ungodly number of boxes ahead of me (okay, two and a half, but they are wicked heavy - so many Shakespeare books). And with the new clothes, all of which are all long sleeve sweater-y type stuff for cold weather. And my syllabus for my first class which arrived via email today. (I am very excited about reading Marlowe's Faustus, but I really hope I like it better than Goethe's. Goethe's Faust is just imbecilic. The devil screws you over, and you're . . . surprised? For real?)

My brain comes through again. For now. Who knows how I'll feel the day of, but getting things done this week has been good for my soul.


I am a Pirate . . . See?

My pirate name is:

Captain Jenny Bonney

Even though there's no legal rank on a pirate ship, everyone recognizes you're the one in charge. You can be a little bit unpredictable, but a pirate's life is far from full of certainties, so that fits in pretty well. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
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In other news, I've packed up practically all of my books. Yay! Go me! And eight million shout outs to Mousie, who volunteered her car and her charming self to help me. Thank you! I can relax a little more now... still no idea what's going to happen to half of this furniture, but so it goes.


It was the Nightingale, and Not the Lark

... that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. I am ... not ready to leave.

I packed one box. One box. And then my eyes filled with tears and I had to go lie down.

The party yesterday made everything very real and very sad. I can't think about where I'm going or what I'll be doing -- just all the nice people I am going away from. My friends actually held me down -- strapped to a chair with three people on a side -- and said nice things about me to my face. And hit me when I tried to be self-deprecating. And now, when I try to pack I almost start crying.

So thank God for Missday, who came over and was all supportive while I was all clingy and needy. And thanks to her, I have packed two boxes to go into the basement, and one whole box of culls off my bookshelf. And I read one whole chapter of a professor-book, and felt a sense of accomplishment. The battle is once again on, and my responsibility has struck!

As a side note, my number of Shakespeare books has grown to nearly 30. Not counting, of course, all the individual plays I have (only missing 4). As a whole, that is comforting.


Another Obsession is Born

Thanks, Short Stuff.

I'm not sure how it works, but the same person who regularly watches Gossip Girl and America's Next Top Model is also the one who introduced me to both Slings & Arrows and Dr. Who. How does she do that without her brain exploding? For real.

Okay, okay, obviously I am a snob. But Dr. Who is really good!


And... Go!

The ancient battle begins again. The worthy gird their loins. Swords are sharpened. Knives are holstered. Shields buckled. Helms fitted. Muscles flexed. Bodies stretched. Battle horns sounded.

Who will win? My perennially instituted resolution, armed with guilt and strong responsibility, as well as buckets of free time, to pack on time and in an orderly manner? Or the dark forces of chaos, aided by my social calendar, and with the strong allies of my laziness and my denial?

Battle is joined. In this first week, the forces of chaos have struck hard and fast, but there is still time for a turnaround. Stay tuned!



Such a ... weird concept. Or it feels like it, when you haven't had one in forever.

Part of me was being driven completely insane by my job, feeling like I was going to sock someone on the head at any moment. Another part of me feels guilty for taking almost the entirety of September off. It evens out, I suppose. I realize I haven't had much time off since I got back to the States -- certainly haven't done any traveling except for two or three days to see my family over Christmas. I get days here and there, and my weekends of course, but lots of days? In a row? Crazy!

Plus, makes it much harder to live in denial about how soon I am leaving and how far I am going. Why have I stopped work except to... move to England. Gulp. (It doesn't help that all, and I do mean all, of my friends do more or less the equivalent of putting their fingers in their ears and humming whenever I bring it up.)

But first, there is the short vacation. Which hopefully will be my borrowed time, so that when I get back, everything can begin to come together.