My first legitimate college paper for my first history class was done via my first academic all-nighter in the lounge outside my first dorm room and I ate nearly an entire package of Oreos by myself. I was also pretty damn sure I was going to fail my upcoming Chem 110 exam, and then there was also exploratory abdominal surgery to look forward to over winter break.
Good news was that I didn't fail my exam, surgery went fine, and I later went on to graduate with a BA in chemistry.
During my sophomore year I wrote a blog post titled Definition. In that moment I not only felt beautiful, but looked it. At least to me. As someone who had played over a decade of competitive sports having a positive body image was, sometimes, difficult to manifest. I later read this same post aloud in front of a room full of my peers - while wearing that same flannel shirt - during National Eating Disorder Awareness Week. I did some tabling for NEDAW, too, as one of my good friends used to have an eating disorder. All of those involved worked hard that week putting up sticky notes with positive messages on bathroom mirrors, showing how out of proportion a life-size Barbie is, having an open mic night, and much, much more.
The bottom line is that women, men, people in general come in all sizes and shapes. There are those who fight constantly to look in the mirror and find one good thing in a sea of negativity.
Which makes it frustrating beyond words when Fat Shaming Week actually becomes a thing.
I'd like to be kidding. Unfortunately, I'm not.
To the men at Return of Kings fat shaming is not only acceptable, but something that must be done. In a recent post about the success of their week, cultural blogger and RoK creator Roosh writes: "Fat shaming is less about bullying individual fat people than reaffirming the fact that obesity culture is not okay in America, and attempts to brainwash people of that fiction must be immediately be destroyed with logic, science, and schoolyard insults."
It's things like this that not only make me lose a little more faith in humanity, but also drive home the importance of To Write Love on Her Arms, NEDAW, and other social movements.
As a woman and a person, I wasn't put on this Earth to be someone's object. My body is my own and, like one of my recent Twitter updates - found here - it has been to hell and back in the past two months. If a man isn't as fond of my wide hips and love handles as I am, that's fine. Nobody wears my skin but me, which is why there's absolutely no justification for anyone to make me feel ashamed of it.
RoK wants to change the cultural mindset of America. My advice is to start with their own.
Showing posts with label utter frustration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label utter frustration. Show all posts
Friday, October 18, 2013
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Right? Yes. Easy? No.
Just in case anybody on the internets hasn't heard - or kind of forgot, because I almost did - tomorrow is Pitch Madness. I was so excited when this first came across my Twitter feed because, I think, at the time I'd just finished Two for the Rent. It would be such a big change from what I had pitched in the last contest she held - Sage - and, considering the feedback I got when I pitched it during a hashtag event, I was pretty damn excited. This could be what lands me something bigger and better. Pitching it in 35 words isn't a problem, I'm more than comfortable with my first 250 words, and all screens are pointing toward giving this a shot.
No problem, right?
Well...wrong.
I did a lot of thinking today, and yesterday, too, watching stuff come through my Twitter feed and trying to feel that same excitement I felt last semester when I damn near missed the entry window. And while I am kind of excited, and I'm really hopeful, I won't be entering Two for the Rent. I can't. Not in good conscience.
It's finished, yes, but it's not complete.
As much as I want to throw it out there and hope for the best, and feel happy and kind of safe in knowing there could be a better market for it than Sage, it's nowhere near where it needs to be. Where it should be to be entering contests. It needs at least a full second draft, and I won't waste an agent's time, nor take somebody's spot that has a complete and polished manuscript ready to go. I couldn't do that.
I won't do that.
So I'll wait for the next one. There will be other contests. There's also always good old fashioned querying when the time comes, but for now I'll sit on it, keep plodding along with the second draft and the second book in the series. And we'll see what happens down the road. A little at odds with the carpe diem lifestyle, but the timing's not right. I wish it was. Damn, do I wish it was. This, however, is all part of the process, and the learning curve. A learning curve where a large part is knowing when you're ready, and when you're not. Realizing you're not can be a little hard to swallow. It's part of the journey, though, the whole process of going from idea to manuscript to, hopefully, at one end of the road, an agent. My process for this particular project still has a ways to go. It smarts, but I recognize I'm not where I should be for a contest like this at this time.
To all those entering tomorrow, I wish you the best of luck. I'll be there for the next one.
No problem, right?
Well...wrong.
I did a lot of thinking today, and yesterday, too, watching stuff come through my Twitter feed and trying to feel that same excitement I felt last semester when I damn near missed the entry window. And while I am kind of excited, and I'm really hopeful, I won't be entering Two for the Rent. I can't. Not in good conscience.
It's finished, yes, but it's not complete.
As much as I want to throw it out there and hope for the best, and feel happy and kind of safe in knowing there could be a better market for it than Sage, it's nowhere near where it needs to be. Where it should be to be entering contests. It needs at least a full second draft, and I won't waste an agent's time, nor take somebody's spot that has a complete and polished manuscript ready to go. I couldn't do that.
I won't do that.
So I'll wait for the next one. There will be other contests. There's also always good old fashioned querying when the time comes, but for now I'll sit on it, keep plodding along with the second draft and the second book in the series. And we'll see what happens down the road. A little at odds with the carpe diem lifestyle, but the timing's not right. I wish it was. Damn, do I wish it was. This, however, is all part of the process, and the learning curve. A learning curve where a large part is knowing when you're ready, and when you're not. Realizing you're not can be a little hard to swallow. It's part of the journey, though, the whole process of going from idea to manuscript to, hopefully, at one end of the road, an agent. My process for this particular project still has a ways to go. It smarts, but I recognize I'm not where I should be for a contest like this at this time.
To all those entering tomorrow, I wish you the best of luck. I'll be there for the next one.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
For All This Life
I've been on this earth twenty-two years. In those subsequent years, the toughest things I've had to do have been walking away from a great relationship with a wonderful person because I was going away to college, getting stuck in an airport for a single night due to a sudden monsoon in Philadelphia, having unexplained belly pain resulting in surgery my first semester of college, leaving my mother in an airport twice, only this time it was her that was leaving and me that was staying (not that it helped), calling my mother a few weeks later to tell her I wasn't coming home and didn't know when I could even think about getting on a plane and getting across the Atlantic, and the following five days of living in the Virgin Atlantic terminal at Heathrow Airport.
It's a toss up of whether all of the previous - collectively - trumps the past four months.
It's been difficult. That could be the understatement of 2011, truthfully, if sitting in my professor's office and, after going over the last exam and talking about where to go from there, fighting on three separate occasions not to cry is any indication. I've done really well since the first month of the semester to not let the center of my brain hijack the rest of it, which is the sort of scientific way of saying I haven't let myself panic as badly as I used to. It's probably not good for my heart, either, the amount of caffeine I ingest on a regular basis.
I don't want to use the word overwhelmed but that's really what it boils down to. Between what's going on up here - no need to insert the laundry list of stuff as that's already been done - and what's going on at home, it's difficult to get the distance required. 45 miles doesn't feel like 45 miles. Even if it were 3,000 I don't think it would work. Sometimes there's just not enough space on the planet to get the distance that feel necessary.
It's also difficult to not let the distance you need hurt the people who need you.
Yeah, that's one I'm still trying to wrap my head around and there are days when I'm successful and days when, well, I'm a giant fail at it. Lately, it seems that my failure days outnumber my non-failure days. It's a struggle, more often than not, to find my motivation and my Focus (slippery little bastard), and to do all I need to do when the only thing I really want to do is curl up in my amazingly comfortable dorm bed and block out the outside world and sleep for a solid eight hours. My beloved sister insists I can sleep when I'm dead, which I think has taken root in the back of my head because it's ten past midnight and I'm working on homework. I'm hoping - more or less planning, actually - to be in bed by three. Which means I have some things to get done right the hell now.
The bright side is that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. There's the fact that spring semester is going to be glorious. There's also the fact that I will be returning to Wales two weeks after graduation for three weeks. Yup, I was accepted into the summer program, and will be returning to a place that grew to be a second (third, maybe?) home.
But there's a lot to do between now and then. A lot to do. Still, there are days when you sit there, think, get a little lost in your head and wonder can I do this? Am I good enough to do this? Have I gotten in over my head? The next thought you think is the true kicker.
Is it really worth it?
There are days when I go cross-eyed looking at my own reflection in the mirror really wondering if the ends justify the means. I've been assured by numerous people they do indeed, but here, right here in this hot as hell corner room, you wonder. You really, really wonder.
Sitting here introspecting isn't getting my lesson plans done. And you know how much I love those damn things.
It's a toss up of whether all of the previous - collectively - trumps the past four months.
It's been difficult. That could be the understatement of 2011, truthfully, if sitting in my professor's office and, after going over the last exam and talking about where to go from there, fighting on three separate occasions not to cry is any indication. I've done really well since the first month of the semester to not let the center of my brain hijack the rest of it, which is the sort of scientific way of saying I haven't let myself panic as badly as I used to. It's probably not good for my heart, either, the amount of caffeine I ingest on a regular basis.
I don't want to use the word overwhelmed but that's really what it boils down to. Between what's going on up here - no need to insert the laundry list of stuff as that's already been done - and what's going on at home, it's difficult to get the distance required. 45 miles doesn't feel like 45 miles. Even if it were 3,000 I don't think it would work. Sometimes there's just not enough space on the planet to get the distance that feel necessary.
It's also difficult to not let the distance you need hurt the people who need you.
Yeah, that's one I'm still trying to wrap my head around and there are days when I'm successful and days when, well, I'm a giant fail at it. Lately, it seems that my failure days outnumber my non-failure days. It's a struggle, more often than not, to find my motivation and my Focus (slippery little bastard), and to do all I need to do when the only thing I really want to do is curl up in my amazingly comfortable dorm bed and block out the outside world and sleep for a solid eight hours. My beloved sister insists I can sleep when I'm dead, which I think has taken root in the back of my head because it's ten past midnight and I'm working on homework. I'm hoping - more or less planning, actually - to be in bed by three. Which means I have some things to get done right the hell now.
The bright side is that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. There's the fact that spring semester is going to be glorious. There's also the fact that I will be returning to Wales two weeks after graduation for three weeks. Yup, I was accepted into the summer program, and will be returning to a place that grew to be a second (third, maybe?) home.
But there's a lot to do between now and then. A lot to do. Still, there are days when you sit there, think, get a little lost in your head and wonder can I do this? Am I good enough to do this? Have I gotten in over my head? The next thought you think is the true kicker.
Is it really worth it?
There are days when I go cross-eyed looking at my own reflection in the mirror really wondering if the ends justify the means. I've been assured by numerous people they do indeed, but here, right here in this hot as hell corner room, you wonder. You really, really wonder.
Sitting here introspecting isn't getting my lesson plans done. And you know how much I love those damn things.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Late-Night Coffee Dregs
I'm well aware of what time it is and also aware of the fact that it's probably not a good idea to be consuming coffee at this hour, but I'm not about to let a good cup go to waste. Also, most of you know I do my best ruminations at roughly this time of night, usually when I'm trying to do something else that requires more focus and attention than I particularly want to give it. (It's lab reports this time, not education seminars, for once.)
The last you heard from me was a few weeks ago. I posted this pretty cool video about a flash mob - that I was part of - and said that I'd be back to talk about life in general.
First thing you should know is that I'm not living in a closet this year. I have enough space to have my moon chair and enough sunlight that Henry actually gets to live with me this year, rather than have to relocate back to the kitchen table at home because he's slowly dying of sun deprivation. As it is, he's continually growing and making my fellow floormates with their own plants rather jealous of the fact that he's huge.
Actually, they're really rather impressed that he's still alive. Most of them apparently don't make it past first semester of first year.
Of course Practical Magic is playing in the background and the most pressing thing I have left to do is my analytical chemistry lab report which involves the use of Excel, and we all know that I'm positively Excel stupid. I'll freely and readily admit that I am absolute shit when it comes to using that program.
The long and short of it right now is that the front of my week is more loaded than the back of my week. Monday and Tuesday see me going from very early in the morning until roughly five in the afternoon, and Wednesday is much the same, only with a later start. My saving grace is that I have only one class on Thursday, and Friday just has three. I'm lucky in that regard. That's the way I planned it.
It's not easy. But it's college. It's not supposed to be. However, the homework is getting done, turned in on time, and I'm doing really well with things. I was able to explain a physical chemistry problem to one of my friends (who's also in my class) and was really proud of myself that I could do it. I'm actually looking forward to that first exam in that class, because I think it will be the first time I get a B or higher on a chemistry exam. If that happens, I'm sending it home to mom and dad to be put on the fridge because, well, I'll be that proud of it. And they'll be proud of me for getting it.
But that's later this month. There's quite a few things between then and now. Including lab reports. I'm not getting any younger, and it's not getting an earlier (technically, it is, but that's really semantics at this point) so I'm going to go sit on my bed and work on my carbon-copy sheets and hope for the best when it comes to Excel. I think I'm going to need it.
The last you heard from me was a few weeks ago. I posted this pretty cool video about a flash mob - that I was part of - and said that I'd be back to talk about life in general.
First thing you should know is that I'm not living in a closet this year. I have enough space to have my moon chair and enough sunlight that Henry actually gets to live with me this year, rather than have to relocate back to the kitchen table at home because he's slowly dying of sun deprivation. As it is, he's continually growing and making my fellow floormates with their own plants rather jealous of the fact that he's huge.
Actually, they're really rather impressed that he's still alive. Most of them apparently don't make it past first semester of first year.
Of course Practical Magic is playing in the background and the most pressing thing I have left to do is my analytical chemistry lab report which involves the use of Excel, and we all know that I'm positively Excel stupid. I'll freely and readily admit that I am absolute shit when it comes to using that program.
The long and short of it right now is that the front of my week is more loaded than the back of my week. Monday and Tuesday see me going from very early in the morning until roughly five in the afternoon, and Wednesday is much the same, only with a later start. My saving grace is that I have only one class on Thursday, and Friday just has three. I'm lucky in that regard. That's the way I planned it.
It's not easy. But it's college. It's not supposed to be. However, the homework is getting done, turned in on time, and I'm doing really well with things. I was able to explain a physical chemistry problem to one of my friends (who's also in my class) and was really proud of myself that I could do it. I'm actually looking forward to that first exam in that class, because I think it will be the first time I get a B or higher on a chemistry exam. If that happens, I'm sending it home to mom and dad to be put on the fridge because, well, I'll be that proud of it. And they'll be proud of me for getting it.
But that's later this month. There's quite a few things between then and now. Including lab reports. I'm not getting any younger, and it's not getting an earlier (technically, it is, but that's really semantics at this point) so I'm going to go sit on my bed and work on my carbon-copy sheets and hope for the best when it comes to Excel. I think I'm going to need it.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Things to Know XXI
- If I can hear your music through your headphones like you weren't wearing them at all, your music is too loud.
- When the above happens, it makes me want to growl.
- If I'm growling at something, that's not a very productive start to my day.
- My fellow classmate - Do not patronize me about what I did or did not do in response to a slightly irate email by one of our other classmates, and then proceed to make it look like you're "winning" what's actually not a competition, and please remember I was here until 1:45 in the morning, like you were, only I'd started at 9:00 instead.
- Today is not a day to mess with me, thanks so much.
- But, in all seriousness, turn the damn music down or I'll put on YouTube and blast country through my speakers!
- I can't seem to find my Focus.
- Saga coffee is downright disturbing - and one hell of a jolt.
- This is the point in my junior year where I just get sick of dealing with people.
- Luckily, when I was in high school, I phased out of beating up the jackasses when I hit this stage.
- Which, honestly, I really only did that in middle school.
- And, again honestly, I never actually punched anyone.
- Yup. I am going to go YouTube it up.
- My philosophy on that last one is that if you've got your headphones in to the degree in which I can hear lyrics clearly, you can obviously not hear a damn thing coming from my direction and therefore won't mind at all.
- And if you do mind, well, frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.
- I have over 3,000 messages in the deleted folder in my webmail.
- I find that rather interesting.
- No idea what's going to happen in terms of the labs that I have no idea how to do for chemistry.
- They might be a lost cause.
- At this point in my life, I'm okay with that.
- I have eight lesson plans, a written assessment plan, and to tweak my introduction all by 7:30 tomorrow morning.
- Thank [Insert Diety/Whatever You Worship (if anything) Here] that tomorrow is my last education class because it's been driving me up the effing wall all semester.
- I have no phone service in the basement. Which kind of sucks.
- Right. Time to dig out my microscope now that I'm more or less done ranting (for the moment) and get something accomplished so I can feel a bit better about myself.
- At least the screamo song to my left is done.
- When the above happens, it makes me want to growl.
- If I'm growling at something, that's not a very productive start to my day.
- My fellow classmate - Do not patronize me about what I did or did not do in response to a slightly irate email by one of our other classmates, and then proceed to make it look like you're "winning" what's actually not a competition, and please remember I was here until 1:45 in the morning, like you were, only I'd started at 9:00 instead.
- Today is not a day to mess with me, thanks so much.
- But, in all seriousness, turn the damn music down or I'll put on YouTube and blast country through my speakers!
- I can't seem to find my Focus.
- Saga coffee is downright disturbing - and one hell of a jolt.
- This is the point in my junior year where I just get sick of dealing with people.
- Luckily, when I was in high school, I phased out of beating up the jackasses when I hit this stage.
- Which, honestly, I really only did that in middle school.
- And, again honestly, I never actually punched anyone.
- Yup. I am going to go YouTube it up.
- My philosophy on that last one is that if you've got your headphones in to the degree in which I can hear lyrics clearly, you can obviously not hear a damn thing coming from my direction and therefore won't mind at all.
- And if you do mind, well, frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.
- I have over 3,000 messages in the deleted folder in my webmail.
- I find that rather interesting.
- No idea what's going to happen in terms of the labs that I have no idea how to do for chemistry.
- They might be a lost cause.
- At this point in my life, I'm okay with that.
- I have eight lesson plans, a written assessment plan, and to tweak my introduction all by 7:30 tomorrow morning.
- Thank [Insert Diety/Whatever You Worship (if anything) Here] that tomorrow is my last education class because it's been driving me up the effing wall all semester.
- I have no phone service in the basement. Which kind of sucks.
- Right. Time to dig out my microscope now that I'm more or less done ranting (for the moment) and get something accomplished so I can feel a bit better about myself.
- At least the screamo song to my left is done.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Roads to Take
Or not to take, as the case may be.
It was a really difficult decision, one that I really didn't think about otherwise I would have waffled back and forth for, well, days, and in the end, it's really for the best, hard as it is to see that now.
On the subject of whether to apply for the writing class to be held by our sort of writer in residence, I've decided not to. Even apply, that is.
Writing is something that is so ingrained in me, it's really hard to separate the two. It's not like acting, where there's the actor me or with playing soccer, where there's this person on the field that has my body, but does things with it that, if I were probably thinking about them in any other context, I'm not sure I'd do. Things like slide-tackling a girl from behind in my own penalty box, or going head to head (almost literally) with an attacking player. This isn't like that. The Louise and writing are two very intricate, almost completely combined things.
The reason I'm not even going to apply is because I don't think I have the strength to be accepted and not actually rearrange things and take the class. I don't think I'm strong enough to just take the fact that I was accepted and go with that. For me, right now, it's better to not even apply and wonder whether I would have made it or not, rather than apply, get accepted, and force myself do not do anything about it.
This was not an easy decision, but one of those that you make and then, maybe a few years later, think...what if?
It was a really difficult decision, one that I really didn't think about otherwise I would have waffled back and forth for, well, days, and in the end, it's really for the best, hard as it is to see that now.
On the subject of whether to apply for the writing class to be held by our sort of writer in residence, I've decided not to. Even apply, that is.
Writing is something that is so ingrained in me, it's really hard to separate the two. It's not like acting, where there's the actor me or with playing soccer, where there's this person on the field that has my body, but does things with it that, if I were probably thinking about them in any other context, I'm not sure I'd do. Things like slide-tackling a girl from behind in my own penalty box, or going head to head (almost literally) with an attacking player. This isn't like that. The Louise and writing are two very intricate, almost completely combined things.
The reason I'm not even going to apply is because I don't think I have the strength to be accepted and not actually rearrange things and take the class. I don't think I'm strong enough to just take the fact that I was accepted and go with that. For me, right now, it's better to not even apply and wonder whether I would have made it or not, rather than apply, get accepted, and force myself do not do anything about it.
This was not an easy decision, but one of those that you make and then, maybe a few years later, think...what if?
Monday, April 4, 2011
Tomorrows
It's the first full week in April. This morning was registration and I don't think there has ever been, in my three years here, a registration that went as smoothly as that.
When you sit at the top of the stack it makes things a little easier.
As of this morning I was content with my schedule. I'm still content with it, as there's not much moving around that I can do with four classes and three labs. Not much moving around that I really wanted to do, truthfully. Fall semester is going to be a tad bit difficult as it is.
And this was before I found out about the workshop from our "writer in residence" type of person where it's an apply and get chosen type of thing. Apparently he's a very good fiction writer. As I've spent the past six years of my life working on a novel, and without becoming egotistical, I think I'm pretty decent fiction writer. This would be a very good thing for me to do. It would be a small class - only fifteen students or so - and the guy teaching would be picking a smaller number of students from that class to continue to work with him in the spring semester.
I don't know what to do. This would be a fifth official class, not to mention that I would have my last education seminar in the fall, and it would also be the first time with me at the helm of martini.
This is one of those occasions when my own sanity comes into conflict with the philosophy of maybe twenty years down the line regretting doing, instead of not doing.
What really scares me? I'm running out of tomorrows. Tomorrows and second chances and starting to put an end date, a number, on my days. And when you realize that, it becomes almost overwhelmingly terrifying.
I can either rearrange my labs (it's possible) and leave my Tuesday afternoons free for this writing class, or I can not apply to it, not take it, and leave everything as is. I don't know what to do and I'm scared of the doing the wrong thing.
Just...tell me I'm not the only one in this position. That would make me feel a tad bit better about the whole damn thing.
When you sit at the top of the stack it makes things a little easier.
As of this morning I was content with my schedule. I'm still content with it, as there's not much moving around that I can do with four classes and three labs. Not much moving around that I really wanted to do, truthfully. Fall semester is going to be a tad bit difficult as it is.
And this was before I found out about the workshop from our "writer in residence" type of person where it's an apply and get chosen type of thing. Apparently he's a very good fiction writer. As I've spent the past six years of my life working on a novel, and without becoming egotistical, I think I'm pretty decent fiction writer. This would be a very good thing for me to do. It would be a small class - only fifteen students or so - and the guy teaching would be picking a smaller number of students from that class to continue to work with him in the spring semester.
I don't know what to do. This would be a fifth official class, not to mention that I would have my last education seminar in the fall, and it would also be the first time with me at the helm of martini.
This is one of those occasions when my own sanity comes into conflict with the philosophy of maybe twenty years down the line regretting doing, instead of not doing.
What really scares me? I'm running out of tomorrows. Tomorrows and second chances and starting to put an end date, a number, on my days. And when you realize that, it becomes almost overwhelmingly terrifying.
I can either rearrange my labs (it's possible) and leave my Tuesday afternoons free for this writing class, or I can not apply to it, not take it, and leave everything as is. I don't know what to do and I'm scared of the doing the wrong thing.
Just...tell me I'm not the only one in this position. That would make me feel a tad bit better about the whole damn thing.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Things to Know XX
- A 2 am bed time is only advisable once a week.
- The crater holes where I had my wisdom teeth removed are still incredibly sore.
- This was evidenced when I got knocked in the jaw last night at rehearsal - nobody's fault - and made everything hurt.
- Geo lab tomorrow takes place more or less in my backyard.
- I sat through a class and a half feeling like my head wasn't functioning.
- Spent four hours (roughly) with no contacts or glasses due to a contact lens malfunction and knowing that wearing only one would produce a hell of a headache within twenty minutes.
- Watching DVD's of Law and Order: UK off of Netflix helps me pretend I'm still in the UK.
- I have a place to live next year - in a house - and get to pick my room on Tuesday.
- There's a project that's going to allow me to look at the quantum mechanics of a black hole.
- There may be a way to tie that back to either Star Trek 2009 or Stargate, of which I'm practically salivating over.
- There's a chance my mom, sister, and I will be able to make a sort of round trip to NYC to see the MLS All Stars take on Manchester United and then see RENT on Broadway.
- If we see RENT it will remind me of the last time we all went to see a musical together, which was The Lion King when I was still in elementary school.
- Sadly, though it would be really fun and a great experience, it's not going to be possible to do the Geo field course this summer (two weeks in Colorado) because it doesn't help for my major, and I would have to petition quite a few people to be able to take only three courses my senior Spring.
- I'm having mixed feelings about the fact that the theater department doesn't want me to take Intro to Dramatic Literature as an independent study (which would mean only three courses [all of them chem, with labs] in the fall) and want me to wait instead for next Spring and another dramatic lit course.
- I still have my ethics goal to fulfill.
- My adviser is quite happy that we're not struggling to fulfill the fine arts goal.
- I don't think I drink enough water in the day.
- I should make a cup of tea and get cozy on my bed doing homework.
- I have a card I'm going to send to my best friend in Rome.
- Speaking of said best friend, she'll be living across the street from me next year.
- One of these days, when it gets a little warmer, I'm going to lay on the grass, look at the sky, breathe, and simply be.
- The crater holes where I had my wisdom teeth removed are still incredibly sore.
- This was evidenced when I got knocked in the jaw last night at rehearsal - nobody's fault - and made everything hurt.
- Geo lab tomorrow takes place more or less in my backyard.
- I sat through a class and a half feeling like my head wasn't functioning.
- Spent four hours (roughly) with no contacts or glasses due to a contact lens malfunction and knowing that wearing only one would produce a hell of a headache within twenty minutes.
- Watching DVD's of Law and Order: UK off of Netflix helps me pretend I'm still in the UK.
- I have a place to live next year - in a house - and get to pick my room on Tuesday.
- There's a project that's going to allow me to look at the quantum mechanics of a black hole.
- There may be a way to tie that back to either Star Trek 2009 or Stargate, of which I'm practically salivating over.
- There's a chance my mom, sister, and I will be able to make a sort of round trip to NYC to see the MLS All Stars take on Manchester United and then see RENT on Broadway.
- If we see RENT it will remind me of the last time we all went to see a musical together, which was The Lion King when I was still in elementary school.
- Sadly, though it would be really fun and a great experience, it's not going to be possible to do the Geo field course this summer (two weeks in Colorado) because it doesn't help for my major, and I would have to petition quite a few people to be able to take only three courses my senior Spring.
- I'm having mixed feelings about the fact that the theater department doesn't want me to take Intro to Dramatic Literature as an independent study (which would mean only three courses [all of them chem, with labs] in the fall) and want me to wait instead for next Spring and another dramatic lit course.
- I still have my ethics goal to fulfill.
- My adviser is quite happy that we're not struggling to fulfill the fine arts goal.
- I don't think I drink enough water in the day.
- I should make a cup of tea and get cozy on my bed doing homework.
- I have a card I'm going to send to my best friend in Rome.
- Speaking of said best friend, she'll be living across the street from me next year.
- One of these days, when it gets a little warmer, I'm going to lay on the grass, look at the sky, breathe, and simply be.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Oneness
This is the third time I've tried to write this post.
My varsity soccer coach my junior and senior year in high school told me those weren't the best days of my life, and not to let them be. That there were bigger and better things out there waiting for us to find them, experience them. He was right, for the most part, that high school wasn't the best days of my life.
What he wasn't right about was WAZA. A travel team I'd been playing on for four years. Those girls, since the first day, they were more than teammates, they were practically family. We were family, actually. After our first practice our coach had said, "Welcome to the WAZA family," and he never stopped saying it. It was drilled into us that if our sister was against the boards, you go help her. You give her support.
Those girls were one of the best things that have ever happened to me. One of the best groups of people that I have ever come to know.
Friday afternoon we lost a sister. She'd fought leukemia not once, but twice - and won - only to lose to a lung infection.
It's been four years since we last stepped on or off a soccer field together. Four years, but with this we've come back to the family we were once. And still are.
That is how we'll grieve. We'll grieve with our blood family, and the family we chose.
We'll grieve for our sister.
My varsity soccer coach my junior and senior year in high school told me those weren't the best days of my life, and not to let them be. That there were bigger and better things out there waiting for us to find them, experience them. He was right, for the most part, that high school wasn't the best days of my life.
What he wasn't right about was WAZA. A travel team I'd been playing on for four years. Those girls, since the first day, they were more than teammates, they were practically family. We were family, actually. After our first practice our coach had said, "Welcome to the WAZA family," and he never stopped saying it. It was drilled into us that if our sister was against the boards, you go help her. You give her support.
Those girls were one of the best things that have ever happened to me. One of the best groups of people that I have ever come to know.
Friday afternoon we lost a sister. She'd fought leukemia not once, but twice - and won - only to lose to a lung infection.
It's been four years since we last stepped on or off a soccer field together. Four years, but with this we've come back to the family we were once. And still are.
That is how we'll grieve. We'll grieve with our blood family, and the family we chose.
We'll grieve for our sister.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Round Two
One of the good things about writing and doing layout for the campus's alternative publication is that, well, other than controlling what goes on the front page and maybe doing the horoscopes on the back, is that you have the opportunity to inform the campus. How else can you get semi-important to important (and stuff that's by no stretch of the imagination important at all) to nearly everyone on campus, staff and faculty included? We have a lot of readership on the campus (more than The Herald) and, well, a lot of the time we come jam-packed with a sense of humor, even if it's slightly cynical.
Which is why I'm very happy I took the time and figured out how to write a semi-neutral article detailing the issues and lack of communication between the students and some of the departments on campus. My own battle at the moment? Still with Residential Education. The fire marshal makes round two to my room tomorrow, along with a person from campus security, and someone else on behalf of Student Activities.
If this wasn't important, I'd be a little worried about fitting all those people in this small but lovable room. As it is, we'll be crammed in here and, honestly, if there's a violation, I can't fix it if I don't know about it.
Namely, don't just tell me I can't live here, give me the concrete reasons why. Give me a legitimate reason that you're going to uproot my social and academic center of stability and attempt to move me - possibly into someplace smaller - because this whole we don't have to give you a reason for why we say you have to do something stopped being a valid form of communication with me past the age of eight. As a legal adult who can not only buy cigarettes (not that I smoke) and lottery tickets, as well as legally drink? You owe me a little bit more than it's unlivable.
As a full-time, living-on-campus student paying a near-ridiculous amount of money for this education, you damn well better have a legitimate reason for upsetting my apple cart.
It's a good thing I have a handle on everything else, otherwise I'd be more of a spaz than I already am on a regular basis. As it is, to get out of this place for a bit, I'm going to go sit in the living room with my knitting and just practice my Shakespeare lines. Then I'm going to go to bed and tomorrow, I'm going to do what I normally do and get up and go to class. Then come back here, be invaded by a bunch of people who don't know me, don't know my situation and background, and don't know that I've already gone through this frustration once in the past month. Heathrow, anyone? That was fighting to get home, and now I'm fighting to keep the home that I've made on campus.
There is something seriously wrong with this picture.
On the bright side, at least they respected my request to be present when the man comes back. It only took about four emails.
So. For right now, I still live where I live and do what I do. Right now, that's enough.
Which is why I'm very happy I took the time and figured out how to write a semi-neutral article detailing the issues and lack of communication between the students and some of the departments on campus. My own battle at the moment? Still with Residential Education. The fire marshal makes round two to my room tomorrow, along with a person from campus security, and someone else on behalf of Student Activities.
If this wasn't important, I'd be a little worried about fitting all those people in this small but lovable room. As it is, we'll be crammed in here and, honestly, if there's a violation, I can't fix it if I don't know about it.
Namely, don't just tell me I can't live here, give me the concrete reasons why. Give me a legitimate reason that you're going to uproot my social and academic center of stability and attempt to move me - possibly into someplace smaller - because this whole we don't have to give you a reason for why we say you have to do something stopped being a valid form of communication with me past the age of eight. As a legal adult who can not only buy cigarettes (not that I smoke) and lottery tickets, as well as legally drink? You owe me a little bit more than it's unlivable.
As a full-time, living-on-campus student paying a near-ridiculous amount of money for this education, you damn well better have a legitimate reason for upsetting my apple cart.
It's a good thing I have a handle on everything else, otherwise I'd be more of a spaz than I already am on a regular basis. As it is, to get out of this place for a bit, I'm going to go sit in the living room with my knitting and just practice my Shakespeare lines. Then I'm going to go to bed and tomorrow, I'm going to do what I normally do and get up and go to class. Then come back here, be invaded by a bunch of people who don't know me, don't know my situation and background, and don't know that I've already gone through this frustration once in the past month. Heathrow, anyone? That was fighting to get home, and now I'm fighting to keep the home that I've made on campus.
There is something seriously wrong with this picture.
On the bright side, at least they respected my request to be present when the man comes back. It only took about four emails.
So. For right now, I still live where I live and do what I do. Right now, that's enough.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Irony. Oh, the Effing Irony
Thank. God. It's. Friday.
That was my first thought after I turned on the coffee pot this morning before getting in the shower. Starbucks cinnamon coffee in a travel mug to warm my hands while walking to my first class of three? Absolutely amazing. The rest of my classes today - great. Even the one where physical chemistry II is a synonym for quantum mechanics was great, and my two geoscience courses? They're going to be a nice change of pace. I have my first line of my Shakespeare monologue memorized, and, as Hatch says, if you do a line a day, you'll have that thing memorized in no time.
Academically speaking, life is groovy. As I have a potential goal for after graduation, this, right now, puts me on a great track. I feel confident and I do the reading, and it makes sense - even the chemistry - and it just works.
What's not working so well right now is this complete and total asshattery that's between me and Residential Education. Which, incidentally, also involves the room I moved into upon arrival on campus three days ago.
Let me say, right now, for the record, and as I have said many times to many people of varying importance in the past day and a half, I absolutely love this little room. I was a little leery of it when I first saw it, but after I moved in, got settled, got unpacked, and made it my own - as I have this habit of making home wherever I go - I've made home in this little room in this wonderfully awesome old house.
The Fire Marshall, on the other hand, has deemed this room that was offered to me, that I have moved into, and that I have been living in since I arrived, unlivable.
There is so much wrong with that previous statement in terms of details and cases and things that happened last semester - including someone living in a room that's apparently unlivable - that it just blows my mind.
I feel a little like I'm living on borrowed time. That I'm going to settle further into my routine, into my campus and collegiate life where I'm at, and then they're going to, if they continue like this, uproot me and move me somewhere where I get to start the whole process over again. There are a few things that I've learned while trying to make nice with people, and trying to understand how one thing can work one day, and the next it simply can't function the way it should with nothing broke.
The only good news to come out of this - along with immediately helpfulness and a let's see what we can do to fix this, or make this less frustrating and painful for you attitude from Student Affairs - is that the Fire Marshall and someone else is going to come back on Monday and reevaluate the room. Sadly, I won't be here when they do. Which means, they won't be able to ask the student that lives, works, and generally lives in the space what she feels, how she likes it, and what options she has.
Reminds me of a bunch of aging men trying to decide in Congress what to do in regards to a young woman's body and her decision of what do with it. Last I checked, they didn't have the means to grow another human inside of them and continue to help the species flourish and have never had to have a gynecology appointment. Quack, quack, anyone?
That, however, is a matter for another time.
Ironically, my academics I'm fine with - I have a handle on those. The other side of the coin? Living and socialization? With the exception of this absolute clusterfuck, I'm good.
Maybe someone should ask the student living there what's best for her in terms of keeping her on an even keel so that she can continue to do her studies and achieve what she can hope to achieve. I am, after all, a full-time student paying full-time student fees. Work with me a little bit.
That was my first thought after I turned on the coffee pot this morning before getting in the shower. Starbucks cinnamon coffee in a travel mug to warm my hands while walking to my first class of three? Absolutely amazing. The rest of my classes today - great. Even the one where physical chemistry II is a synonym for quantum mechanics was great, and my two geoscience courses? They're going to be a nice change of pace. I have my first line of my Shakespeare monologue memorized, and, as Hatch says, if you do a line a day, you'll have that thing memorized in no time.
Academically speaking, life is groovy. As I have a potential goal for after graduation, this, right now, puts me on a great track. I feel confident and I do the reading, and it makes sense - even the chemistry - and it just works.
What's not working so well right now is this complete and total asshattery that's between me and Residential Education. Which, incidentally, also involves the room I moved into upon arrival on campus three days ago.
Let me say, right now, for the record, and as I have said many times to many people of varying importance in the past day and a half, I absolutely love this little room. I was a little leery of it when I first saw it, but after I moved in, got settled, got unpacked, and made it my own - as I have this habit of making home wherever I go - I've made home in this little room in this wonderfully awesome old house.
The Fire Marshall, on the other hand, has deemed this room that was offered to me, that I have moved into, and that I have been living in since I arrived, unlivable.
There is so much wrong with that previous statement in terms of details and cases and things that happened last semester - including someone living in a room that's apparently unlivable - that it just blows my mind.
I feel a little like I'm living on borrowed time. That I'm going to settle further into my routine, into my campus and collegiate life where I'm at, and then they're going to, if they continue like this, uproot me and move me somewhere where I get to start the whole process over again. There are a few things that I've learned while trying to make nice with people, and trying to understand how one thing can work one day, and the next it simply can't function the way it should with nothing broke.
The only good news to come out of this - along with immediately helpfulness and a let's see what we can do to fix this, or make this less frustrating and painful for you attitude from Student Affairs - is that the Fire Marshall and someone else is going to come back on Monday and reevaluate the room. Sadly, I won't be here when they do. Which means, they won't be able to ask the student that lives, works, and generally lives in the space what she feels, how she likes it, and what options she has.
Reminds me of a bunch of aging men trying to decide in Congress what to do in regards to a young woman's body and her decision of what do with it. Last I checked, they didn't have the means to grow another human inside of them and continue to help the species flourish and have never had to have a gynecology appointment. Quack, quack, anyone?
That, however, is a matter for another time.
Ironically, my academics I'm fine with - I have a handle on those. The other side of the coin? Living and socialization? With the exception of this absolute clusterfuck, I'm good.
Maybe someone should ask the student living there what's best for her in terms of keeping her on an even keel so that she can continue to do her studies and achieve what she can hope to achieve. I am, after all, a full-time student paying full-time student fees. Work with me a little bit.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Small Favors
I'm not sure what exactly to write about that doesn't start with the phrase I'm on the edge and thinking too hard makes my already sinus-stuffed head feel like it's going to implode.
So I'll start this by saying I spent two and a half hours of my life with Sir Ian McKellen on the other side of the woman next to me at the play Deathtrap, which was quite good, too. The man nearly stepped on my toes when he got up for intermission. And no, I didn't ask for a photo or an autograph or anything, because the man was more or less just there to see a show with a friend, and I wasn't about to interrupt that. They have lives, too.
On that note, the others ran (almost literally) into Hugh Laurie on Monday. Apparently he lives around where our hotel is. Again, no photographs or autographs.
I'm sitting in a hotel room in central London, trying to find the words to adequately describe what exactly is going on this head of mine. Or, what feels like a swollen melon sitting on top of my shoulders, truthfully. Particularly my forehead and under my eyes. Oh well. It just needs to sit there a bit more.
There's what we want and then there's reality. Ultimately, we have to come to terms with the fact that sometimes they aren't going to match up. I'd like to be home for Christmas, but depending on the weather - something completely outside of my control - that might not happen. You have the optimist on one side, and the realist on the other, and they might not play nice. The saying is best laid plans of mice and men or something to that effect, and it's completely true. I'll recognize there's a big different being stuck in London and stuck someplace completely away from it all. Hell, I even know what it's like to be stuck in the airport for days on end, and I'll tell you, I was pretty damn ripe by the time I got to where I'm currently at on Monday.
Like I said previously, I know both sides now.
It's in no way what I want, but it's what I've got, and what I have to deal with.
A month and a half from now we'll look back at this, look at the pictures, sort through the recent Underground tickets, and we'll laugh. It'll make a great story, when it's not so raw. We'll laugh, we'll make Tom Hanks references, and we'll joke about it as best we know how. That's how, eventually, it will be seen. It's an experience. That much I can't deny. But it's not one that many people willingly choose, honestly.
I would like, very simply, to go home. That is all I ask.
So I'll start this by saying I spent two and a half hours of my life with Sir Ian McKellen on the other side of the woman next to me at the play Deathtrap, which was quite good, too. The man nearly stepped on my toes when he got up for intermission. And no, I didn't ask for a photo or an autograph or anything, because the man was more or less just there to see a show with a friend, and I wasn't about to interrupt that. They have lives, too.
On that note, the others ran (almost literally) into Hugh Laurie on Monday. Apparently he lives around where our hotel is. Again, no photographs or autographs.
I'm sitting in a hotel room in central London, trying to find the words to adequately describe what exactly is going on this head of mine. Or, what feels like a swollen melon sitting on top of my shoulders, truthfully. Particularly my forehead and under my eyes. Oh well. It just needs to sit there a bit more.
There's what we want and then there's reality. Ultimately, we have to come to terms with the fact that sometimes they aren't going to match up. I'd like to be home for Christmas, but depending on the weather - something completely outside of my control - that might not happen. You have the optimist on one side, and the realist on the other, and they might not play nice. The saying is best laid plans of mice and men or something to that effect, and it's completely true. I'll recognize there's a big different being stuck in London and stuck someplace completely away from it all. Hell, I even know what it's like to be stuck in the airport for days on end, and I'll tell you, I was pretty damn ripe by the time I got to where I'm currently at on Monday.
Like I said previously, I know both sides now.
It's in no way what I want, but it's what I've got, and what I have to deal with.
A month and a half from now we'll look back at this, look at the pictures, sort through the recent Underground tickets, and we'll laugh. It'll make a great story, when it's not so raw. We'll laugh, we'll make Tom Hanks references, and we'll joke about it as best we know how. That's how, eventually, it will be seen. It's an experience. That much I can't deny. But it's not one that many people willingly choose, honestly.
I would like, very simply, to go home. That is all I ask.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Moving
I told you I had an odd sense of humor. As in the title of this post, and the fact that I've now moved from Heathrow to a hotel not far from the Bond Street Underground station in the borough of Westminster.
And believe me, it's a nicer hotel than I would have chosen had I been the one to choose originally. Namely, this one would have been classified as a little out of my price range.
The last time you heard from me, I was sitting on the fun side of security at Heathrow, waiting to get on a flight to JFK. As I'm not posting the joys of being home, it's safe to assume that I'm still in London. That assumption would be correct.
It's been an interesting few days, to say the least. If you've been following me on Twitter, you'll see some of what I've been posting [including the one from the reporter at CNN who wants me to email him, and I still need to do that, too] and the responses.
Despite all the good thoughts, karma, prayers and whatnot, if it continues to snow - and stick - there is the possibility that we won't fly out on Wednesday and we'll be spending Christmas in London has an HWS family.
An HWS family in which they're happy to have me back.
I'd been "Tom Hanks-ing" it from Friday until late this afternoon, sleeping on the second floor of Virgin Atlantic departures since then. Except for Saturday night on the floor by some exchange bureau near check-in point F or G. I woke up during the night, mostly because I was really freaking cold, and sat up, looked around, and thought why are there so many people covered in tin foil? Then figured that if I was having that thought, oddly reminding me of when my sister was sleeping in the tent with the dog at the lake and saw my aunt in her nightdress, wandering around, I needed to lay back down and go to sleep. Which I did.
It was really difficult to keep track of days, because, eventually, they blended together. It didn't so much happen that first morning, but Sunday into Monday it really started to.
Saturday was the day I fought with the airline to get my bags back. I had checked my backpack - not only was it too large, apparently, to be in the cabin, but it was too heavy, too - and there was also my suitcase, too. The suitcase wasn't an issue. The backpack was the issue because it had my meds in it. Not the Align, the important one, but the other stuff that I needed to supplement it. And the longer I go without my meds, the more things get....interesting.
It took multiple trips to Arrivals (where the baggage was supposed to be, as it was still on the plane at the time) and upon the fourth trip downstairs to try and find out when my bags were coming off the plane, only then did the Virgin Atlantic representative actually ask if there was anything she could do for me, if there was anything she could get me. I told her no, I just needed my bags (because, yeah, making my own dosages with something that wasn't even close to being the UK equivalent was not going to happen) and she actually was the first one all day to take my bag information off from my passport, and also my mobile number in hopes that when she knew when the plane was being unloaded, she would let me know. I assumed this was going to be true.
Despite having my mobile number, they didn't call me. However, the moment I hit the departures floor, she immediately remembered me, pulled aside another rep, and sent me with her to Arrivals to fetch my bag. The suitcase was on a trolley, and the backpack was on top of that. First thing I did after returning to my spot in the second floor of Departures, was to crack open my bag, ingest my meds, and then check to make sure the breakable stuff I had wrapped in clothes and in the bottom hadn't broken. It was intact, but the entire right side of the bag was wet. Like it had been dropped in snow.
Not a big deal, but, well....makes things in there not smell great.
So, now it was Sunday and after some phoning home, we decided that it would be best for me to stay at the airport and maybe hope to get on a standby list. Then the news came in that there was a rescheduled flight that we had seats on for Wednesday. I have a printed e-ticket, and a guaranteed ticket on this flight. But we wanted to see if maybe there was a way for me to get something earlier.
Which, ultimately, didn't work. So I wound up spending another night on the floor of the airport.
And, as there is a mirror above the desk, I'm looking at the circles under my eyes that somehow keep growing. Not great.
Monday turned out to be a bust, and then information trickled in from the homefront that it was best for me to find the hotel everyone had been living at while I had been living at Heathrow, and it was made that I was to find that and check myself in.
Feeling like a bag lady, I trotted down the elevator and then out into the cold, slightly snowy London air and headed for Arrivals. That would take me down to the Heathrow Express - the train that gets you to London Paddington in fifteen minutes. And they weren't charging for it because of all the snow had done to travelers. From Paddington it was down to the Underground and then, one transfer later, I was at the corner of Bond Street and Oxford Street (I think) and wondering where exactly to go next. After a bit of wandering (which is more or less what I'm famous for, really) I found the hotel.
Not too long later I was in a room with an actual bed, a shower, and thinking that it was proverbial heaven, truthfully.
It's weird. I have internet access (free, too!), a bed to sleep in tonight as opposed to the floor, and I was able to take a shower and find some different clothes to wear. Though what I'm going to wear to bed tonight is a completely different story as most of the rest of my clothes are packed in space bags with the air sucked out. And unless someone wants me to give myself a slight hernia by sucking that much air through a straw, I'm not opening them.
The most important part of this is that I've seen both sides to this story. I've seen the I don't have anywhere to go, and the airport is now home until they figure out how to get me to where I need to go and I've also seen the I have the opportunity to get out of this place for a while, get a shower, sleep in a bed, and generally wander around London until we're supposed to fly. I know which side most would prefer - it's the side I'm currently on. But I've seen both. Done both. And that's been one of those experiences most people should really have.
It's truly how the other half lives.
I'm in London until Wednesday, at the earliest. I'm back with the rest of my student cohorts, and we're planning on seeing a show tomorrow night. Something to pass the time. To keep ourselves occupied and see some of London that we haven't seen before.
And I just found something to sleep in, which just made my night, really. It's the little things right now, like being connected to the internet and being able to call back home. It's things like that right now that make a difference. A big difference, really.
I understand that I'm lucky. I'm in a hotel when I could be spending another night at Heathrow under a blanket on a foam mat on the floor in some corner with my luggage. As it is, I'm going to crawl into a bed and sleep like I'm dead, probably, and hope the bags under my eyes don't get any larger or I'm going to be giving a raccoon a run for his money.
I would love to be home right now, layin' on the couch with the dog or curled up in my own icebox of a room (backside of the house, gets a little chilly in the winter) and wondering if I'm going to be making Christmas cookies with the Smidget, but I'm not. I'm in London - Borough of Westminster, to be exact - and if things go right-side up, I'm leaving on Wednesday to actually head home. If they go pear-shaped, then we're looking at spending Christmas on this side of the Atlantic with some of the alums that we can find in this country.
Bright side of life. Make the most of what you've got when you've got it. Right now, while this might not be ideal, it's better than what it had been, and better than what some still have. That's always a good thing to keep in mind.
And believe me, it's a nicer hotel than I would have chosen had I been the one to choose originally. Namely, this one would have been classified as a little out of my price range.
The last time you heard from me, I was sitting on the fun side of security at Heathrow, waiting to get on a flight to JFK. As I'm not posting the joys of being home, it's safe to assume that I'm still in London. That assumption would be correct.
It's been an interesting few days, to say the least. If you've been following me on Twitter, you'll see some of what I've been posting [including the one from the reporter at CNN who wants me to email him, and I still need to do that, too] and the responses.
Despite all the good thoughts, karma, prayers and whatnot, if it continues to snow - and stick - there is the possibility that we won't fly out on Wednesday and we'll be spending Christmas in London has an HWS family.
An HWS family in which they're happy to have me back.
I'd been "Tom Hanks-ing" it from Friday until late this afternoon, sleeping on the second floor of Virgin Atlantic departures since then. Except for Saturday night on the floor by some exchange bureau near check-in point F or G. I woke up during the night, mostly because I was really freaking cold, and sat up, looked around, and thought why are there so many people covered in tin foil? Then figured that if I was having that thought, oddly reminding me of when my sister was sleeping in the tent with the dog at the lake and saw my aunt in her nightdress, wandering around, I needed to lay back down and go to sleep. Which I did.
It was really difficult to keep track of days, because, eventually, they blended together. It didn't so much happen that first morning, but Sunday into Monday it really started to.
Saturday was the day I fought with the airline to get my bags back. I had checked my backpack - not only was it too large, apparently, to be in the cabin, but it was too heavy, too - and there was also my suitcase, too. The suitcase wasn't an issue. The backpack was the issue because it had my meds in it. Not the Align, the important one, but the other stuff that I needed to supplement it. And the longer I go without my meds, the more things get....interesting.
It took multiple trips to Arrivals (where the baggage was supposed to be, as it was still on the plane at the time) and upon the fourth trip downstairs to try and find out when my bags were coming off the plane, only then did the Virgin Atlantic representative actually ask if there was anything she could do for me, if there was anything she could get me. I told her no, I just needed my bags (because, yeah, making my own dosages with something that wasn't even close to being the UK equivalent was not going to happen) and she actually was the first one all day to take my bag information off from my passport, and also my mobile number in hopes that when she knew when the plane was being unloaded, she would let me know. I assumed this was going to be true.
Despite having my mobile number, they didn't call me. However, the moment I hit the departures floor, she immediately remembered me, pulled aside another rep, and sent me with her to Arrivals to fetch my bag. The suitcase was on a trolley, and the backpack was on top of that. First thing I did after returning to my spot in the second floor of Departures, was to crack open my bag, ingest my meds, and then check to make sure the breakable stuff I had wrapped in clothes and in the bottom hadn't broken. It was intact, but the entire right side of the bag was wet. Like it had been dropped in snow.
Not a big deal, but, well....makes things in there not smell great.
So, now it was Sunday and after some phoning home, we decided that it would be best for me to stay at the airport and maybe hope to get on a standby list. Then the news came in that there was a rescheduled flight that we had seats on for Wednesday. I have a printed e-ticket, and a guaranteed ticket on this flight. But we wanted to see if maybe there was a way for me to get something earlier.
Which, ultimately, didn't work. So I wound up spending another night on the floor of the airport.
And, as there is a mirror above the desk, I'm looking at the circles under my eyes that somehow keep growing. Not great.
Monday turned out to be a bust, and then information trickled in from the homefront that it was best for me to find the hotel everyone had been living at while I had been living at Heathrow, and it was made that I was to find that and check myself in.
Feeling like a bag lady, I trotted down the elevator and then out into the cold, slightly snowy London air and headed for Arrivals. That would take me down to the Heathrow Express - the train that gets you to London Paddington in fifteen minutes. And they weren't charging for it because of all the snow had done to travelers. From Paddington it was down to the Underground and then, one transfer later, I was at the corner of Bond Street and Oxford Street (I think) and wondering where exactly to go next. After a bit of wandering (which is more or less what I'm famous for, really) I found the hotel.
Not too long later I was in a room with an actual bed, a shower, and thinking that it was proverbial heaven, truthfully.
It's weird. I have internet access (free, too!), a bed to sleep in tonight as opposed to the floor, and I was able to take a shower and find some different clothes to wear. Though what I'm going to wear to bed tonight is a completely different story as most of the rest of my clothes are packed in space bags with the air sucked out. And unless someone wants me to give myself a slight hernia by sucking that much air through a straw, I'm not opening them.
The most important part of this is that I've seen both sides to this story. I've seen the I don't have anywhere to go, and the airport is now home until they figure out how to get me to where I need to go and I've also seen the I have the opportunity to get out of this place for a while, get a shower, sleep in a bed, and generally wander around London until we're supposed to fly. I know which side most would prefer - it's the side I'm currently on. But I've seen both. Done both. And that's been one of those experiences most people should really have.
It's truly how the other half lives.
I'm in London until Wednesday, at the earliest. I'm back with the rest of my student cohorts, and we're planning on seeing a show tomorrow night. Something to pass the time. To keep ourselves occupied and see some of London that we haven't seen before.
And I just found something to sleep in, which just made my night, really. It's the little things right now, like being connected to the internet and being able to call back home. It's things like that right now that make a difference. A big difference, really.
I understand that I'm lucky. I'm in a hotel when I could be spending another night at Heathrow under a blanket on a foam mat on the floor in some corner with my luggage. As it is, I'm going to crawl into a bed and sleep like I'm dead, probably, and hope the bags under my eyes don't get any larger or I'm going to be giving a raccoon a run for his money.
I would love to be home right now, layin' on the couch with the dog or curled up in my own icebox of a room (backside of the house, gets a little chilly in the winter) and wondering if I'm going to be making Christmas cookies with the Smidget, but I'm not. I'm in London - Borough of Westminster, to be exact - and if things go right-side up, I'm leaving on Wednesday to actually head home. If they go pear-shaped, then we're looking at spending Christmas on this side of the Atlantic with some of the alums that we can find in this country.
Bright side of life. Make the most of what you've got when you've got it. Right now, while this might not be ideal, it's better than what it had been, and better than what some still have. That's always a good thing to keep in mind.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
At Home in Heathrow
[I wrote this Friday night (I think) and it was the first time that I was, well, more or less aware that I was going to be living in an airport for a couple of days. Now that I have internet access, be prepared for, well, a series tentatively titled At Home in Heathrow. I have a sick sense of humor, don't I? So, this was actually written Saturday before I was supposed to get on the plane to come home. My how plans have changed.]
Right. I’m almost out of battery on my laptop and I don’t feel like digging out my plug and my adapter, and…I will see you on the other side of the Atlantic.
Hopefully sooner rather than later.
I know the time stamp on this sucker is going to read something different, but I’m currently sitting on the fun side of airport security waiting until I can board my flight home.
So, yes, I’ve been living at Heathrow since yesterday at about six-thirty at night. It’s been….real.
Let me back up. Yesterday morning I get a call at about nine-something (woke me up, I’ll be honest, I was sleeping in) and it’s the International Officer asking me if I’ve looked outside. Out the window there’s at least a good couple inches of snow on the ground. Not much by New York standards, but definitely more than the UK can handle. She then proceeds to tell me that because of the weather, the bus company isn’t sure if they can successfully get us there on time if we leave in the morning. So there’s going to be a bus leaving at one in the afternoon.
Cue Louise’s temporary panic because there’s nothing in my room that’s packed. There’s part of my desk done, but other than that? Nadda.
Anyway, she tells me she’s going to call back when she finds out what time the bus is leaving and then she’ll want to know if I’m going to be on it.
Holy. Shit.
This is not how I wanted to leave the country in a state of semi-panic.
So, I get up, get around and take a shower, and then start to power pack my room. She calls me back around ten and tells me the bus is going to leave at two, and if I’m going to be on it. There might not, because of the snow, be another way to get to London if I’m not on this bus.
Hence, Louise needs to be on the bus.
Do not ask me how I managed to pack an entire room in the time available, including the three bags I had with me, and they are all stuffed. It’s ridiculous.
This was, however, not how I wanted to leave. I didn’t want to be rushing around and leaving like this. I wanted to take my time packing, saying goodbye, and maybe having a snowball fight with Jess and Jen before I had to leave. It didn’t happen. I didn’t get to hug Math, or say goodbye to some of the other internationals because they weren’t available, and I was in a time crunch. It wasn’t ideal. But what can you do? They were the circumstances presented, and, quite honestly, I want to go home.
Looking at pictures on my camera of the people I’ve left behind is not the right thing to do at the moment. Though the ones we have when we found a space to claim as ours for the night in the airport? Those are priceless. And Heathrow provided blankets, too. So I have this horribly ugly brown fleece blanket with me that someone gave me at about one-something this morning, along with a bottle of water that I didn’t drink.
Luggage was an issue. Not only was my suitcase overweight (power-packing in three hours? Yeah, that’s gonna happen) and, apparently, my backpack that I took with me on the plane in the cabin was too large and too heavy. Therefore, I had to check that.
That did not make me a happy camper. Especially because I have my Newcastle Brown Ale glass from the Rose and Crown Hotel in that backpack and the stuff that Jess and Jen gave me for my birthday, all breakable. And I was going to have that with me to, well, not break it, and now it’s in with the rest of the luggage. However, I was a good person and wrapped it in clothes before putting it in there, so it should be okay.
Hopefully.
On the bright side of that, when I did self-service check-in, I changed my seat. Was supposed to be in the middle on the side, but now I’ve got a window seat. Which makes things better. Not great, but better.
I won’t tell you how much I’ve shelled out to be able to get my overweight suitcase and extra bag on that plane, but it can’t very well sit in Heathrow, can it? And I can’t really repack it because, well, where the hell am I gonna put that stuff? Exactly. At this point, I will do what I need to in order to get home.
Now I’m currently sitting outside a T.G.I. Friday’s and a Jo Malone, listening to Nate play his guitar and thinking that I might have been in this airport too damn long.
There are some truly hilarious pictures from last night, sleeping on the second floor of departures, and, honestly, I slept really well for about five hours on the floor. I will be submitting that photo to This Week in Photos on the colleges website because, well, it’s priceless. Come study abroad and get stuck in airports! Spend the night with your fellow students in a public, co-ed sleepover experience!
Bright side of life, here, people. Bright side of life.
I’m still torn. On the one hand, I want to go home because I haven’t seen my mother in weeks and my sister, father, and Smidget in months. I wanna have filter coffee in my kitchen with my sister, and I want to wake up in the morning because Mads is standing by the side of the bed just staring at me, maybe poking me to see if I’m real and I’ll move over and crawl into bed with me. I’ve missed that. I’ve missed her and her three-foot tall barely containable endless energy.
And if I have to listen to one more security announcement, I’m going to freak out and curse in languages I don’t even know.
What’s making this more bearable? The venti-sized Starbucks peppermint mocha that I’m consuming while I’m writing this and the fact that, yeah, I’ve gotten really used to running on not a lot of sleep over the past couple of weeks. That, and I’m predicting when I get on the plane, I’m going to be asleep before we’re even off the ground.
Shit. The pack of gum I bought specifically to help my ears pop? That’s in my backpack which is now a checked bag. Damn it. I’m going to need to bum some gum off someone if I’m going to make it through take-off without a ton of pain. Sometimes my ears won’t pop.
Again, bright side – I figured out my calling card last night. I couldn’t call the 800 number straight away, I had to call the international connection (for free) and then have them connect me through to AT&T, then I could use the card. Simple once you figure it out, a little complicated and a hell of a lot of frustration when you don’t know what you’re doing.
My laptop sports a Mind the Gap sticker from London on the lid. Perched at a jaunty, angle, of course, and hopefully a conversation starter if I’m in the library and someone’s wondering.
I should probably start thinking about articles to submit to the study abroad journal back home, but I think I have other things to worry about at the moment.
My teeth feel incredibly fuzzy. Brush my teeth, you suggest? The toothbrush and toothpaste are in the backpack, along with most of the pills. It’s been absolutely lovely. What can you do, though?
Yup. I’m going to get on that plane and probably be asleep before we even take off. Me and my window seat that I changed when I checked in. Still makes me smile when I think about that. I like window seats. Not only do I get to look, I get something to lean against.
Let’s talk about re-entry. As in, re-entry to America and American society. It’s going to be an issue. I’ve spent three months getting used to this system, this way of life (and driving on the left side of the road, thank you very much) and maybe it’s a good thing I’m not going to be able to drive until roughly next week because my license expired. Dad has to take me down to DMV sometime next week so I can renew it, and then I’ll be able to drive. Hopefully, I will have assimilated enough to be comfortable driving again and not feel like I’m going the wrong way.
Right. I’m almost out of battery on my laptop and I don’t feel like digging out my plug and my adapter, and…I will see you on the other side of the Atlantic.
Hopefully sooner rather than later.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Things Louise is Tired Of
Self-explanatory title. I'm a little....peeved, at the moment.
- Dealing with people. Specifically the ones I live with.
- Feeling like a foreigner.
- Being told it's just British humor and to get over it. [It's not - in some cases, it's incredibly offensive, you asshat]
- Hearing the phrase This isn't America, or This is my country, or Things are different here. [No shit, Sherlock, but cut me some slack, I've done damn well to adapt]
- Dishes. And people who don't do them, and expect other people to do exactly as they are told in relation to said dishes.
- The double standard that seems to have cropped up from the previous.
- Having it insinuated every time I'm shaving my legs with my electric razor I'm doing something else [Get. Over. Yourself. It wasn't funny the first time, it's still not funny three months later.]
- Painfully thin walls.
- Being the bigger, better person because that's how my parents raised me [they did it amazingly, too, because 9.8 times out of 10 I'll be the bigger person.]
- Feeling hurt that my ex got married. Really, I'm sick of feeling this way.
- This damn country. Love it, but I'm ready to go home. Now.
- Being proverbially stuck.
- Not having a car.
- Things not staying open past seven. [Seriously. WTF?]
- Trying to make nice when no one else seems to want to.
- Trying to blend in.
- Crying and itching because I'm so frustrated I could scream.
- Having nowhere to go when things get too much.
- Being left out when other people take people to the store or town.
- Feeling bad when I ask but, well, nobody asks me.
- Listening to someone have a conversation in Welsh when I only speak English.
- Being left out in general.
- Feeling this shitty because I can't win with these people.
- Having every conversation I have with a certain someone end up incredibly sarcastic two exchanges in.
- Not wanting to go into the kitchen or another communal space because I don't want to have to make nice with people because I'm still hurting or they're still pissed off.
- Missing things; home, family, etc.
- Fighting with my toilet to flush and dealing with a shower that doesn't drain, filling nearly to the door in a little under three minutes.
- Being disrespected.
- Dealing with people. Specifically the ones I live with.
- Feeling like a foreigner.
- Being told it's just British humor and to get over it. [It's not - in some cases, it's incredibly offensive, you asshat]
- Hearing the phrase This isn't America, or This is my country, or Things are different here. [No shit, Sherlock, but cut me some slack, I've done damn well to adapt]
- Dishes. And people who don't do them, and expect other people to do exactly as they are told in relation to said dishes.
- The double standard that seems to have cropped up from the previous.
- Having it insinuated every time I'm shaving my legs with my electric razor I'm doing something else [Get. Over. Yourself. It wasn't funny the first time, it's still not funny three months later.]
- Painfully thin walls.
- Being the bigger, better person because that's how my parents raised me [they did it amazingly, too, because 9.8 times out of 10 I'll be the bigger person.]
- Feeling hurt that my ex got married. Really, I'm sick of feeling this way.
- This damn country. Love it, but I'm ready to go home. Now.
- Being proverbially stuck.
- Not having a car.
- Things not staying open past seven. [Seriously. WTF?]
- Trying to make nice when no one else seems to want to.
- Trying to blend in.
- Crying and itching because I'm so frustrated I could scream.
- Having nowhere to go when things get too much.
- Being left out when other people take people to the store or town.
- Feeling bad when I ask but, well, nobody asks me.
- Listening to someone have a conversation in Welsh when I only speak English.
- Being left out in general.
- Feeling this shitty because I can't win with these people.
- Having every conversation I have with a certain someone end up incredibly sarcastic two exchanges in.
- Not wanting to go into the kitchen or another communal space because I don't want to have to make nice with people because I'm still hurting or they're still pissed off.
- Missing things; home, family, etc.
- Fighting with my toilet to flush and dealing with a shower that doesn't drain, filling nearly to the door in a little under three minutes.
- Being disrespected.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Dumbstruck
With the exception of some pieces of fiction, you really haven't heard much from me lately. I can't decide if you guys are missing the snark yet or rolling in the silence. Either way, that temporary peace might have just been shattered.
There's this great organization called Host UK. What happens is if you're a student from another country, you can fill out an application, tell them where you're studying, what you're interested in, and how much you'd be willing to spend on travel, and they put you up with one of their hosts for the weekend. Your host feeds you, gives you a place to stay, and usually sort of shows you around the UK town they live in.
I spent this past weekend in Bath, England. My host was over sixty, and had lost her husband little over a year ago. But that was okay, because she seemed really enthusiastic about hosting and she' had done this plenty of times before. And I didn't think it was a big deal that she was about fifteen minutes late to pick me up, because, and I was looking right at it, traffic was chaotic. I can understand that. That's fine. And our first little trip out to a place called Wells to see the abbey and bishop's palace, that was cool, too. The church was absolutely awesome (if you're still stalking around my Photobucket, I'm working on it, though that seems to be Louise's Famous Last Words, but you know me) and that was a really nice way to start the weekend off. I'd been on a train for three hours, then sat in a car for another half an hour, got out and wandered around an abbey, and then back into the car and we drove to her house, where I would be staying. I had my own bathroom - down the hall toward the kitchen - and I had my own room. And it was nearly the size of my one at home in New York, so it was pretty big. It was really nice. She has a lot to offer these kids that come stay with her - which, from my understanding, are a lot of Chinese students because they come over to England for university a lot of the time.
Cottage pie for dinner followed by a sort of apple cake thing that had been warmed in the oven, and we watched a little TV and talked about what was going to happen the next day. The woman is over sixty. Walking is not her strong point, and you know damn well I'm prepared to hike all over the place if it means I can see all that I can see and do all I can do. So she was just going to drop me off in the middle of Bath, by the abbey and the Roman Baths, and I would catch the two hour tour that was leaving from there. I'd see all sorts of things.
Honestly, it reminded me of when we went to Toronto for class in the spring. Most of Toronto's speakers involved wandering around and looking at social housing, mixed housing, and that sort of thing. In Bath? You looked at Georgian architecture and talked about the heavy Roman influence and how the place had been a spa for the rich and maybe not-so-famous. The Circus was a great piece of architecture (a circle with three roads coming in all equally spaced apart, really a thing of beauty) and the Royal Crescent was nice, too. It's a crescent-shaped building. And, of course, the Roman Baths because that's what made the place famous to begin with. And really, once you've seen all of that, you've really seen Bath.
I wandered through the Roman Baths. They still function - they've actually opened a new spa right behind the Roman Baths that uses the natural hot spring water that bubbles up - but you can't swim in them because, well, the water's green from algae. There's no roof on the thing, so the sunlight hits the water, and the algae grows.
Another interesting point is that the sheets of lead that surround the pool? They're still there, and still watertight. I heard that and I immediately thought of something along the lines of lead poisoning, anyone? But apparently not. And no, it's not much warmer by the water than outside the building.
Right next to the Roman Baths is Bath Abbey. It's a fraction of the size of the Norman church that used to stand there, but it's still impressive. Along the sides of the front door is a Jacob's Ladder, in which there are angels ascending to heaven. I felt really bad for the bottom angels, because they were missing their heads - most likely due to erosion - but everything else was pretty much intact on the outside.
In Bath Abbey, you can go on what's called the Tower Tour. You get to go up into the tower and see the back of the clock face and see the bells. You learn about how they ring them - because, yes, they still have bell ringers, and it's not as easy as it sounds if you want the real deal - and we were actually in the bell room when the clock struck two. The only reason that we weren't deafened was because the mechanical parts hit the bell with a hammer, it doesn't swing like a bell ringer is doing it. If we had been in the room when they - especially the tenner bell - were swinging, you'd kiss your hearing goodbye.
As my host was coming to pick me up at half four (four-thirty), that didn't really leave me a lot of time to find lunch and then get to where she was picking me up, after seeing everything that I had wanted to.
I thought it very appropriate to work on Murphy and Me while in a Irish pub sipping on a pint of Caffrey's and waiting for my BBQ chicken melt. The chips were excellent, the melt not so much, and the beer was, as usual, good.
Once again with my map and on foot, I hoofed it to the William Herschel Museum - and was not very impressed with it, I'll tell you that, and I don't really care that the guy did live in that house - and then was craving something sweet for some reason. Which meant that I found a pub (because I didn't have time to walk all the way back to the Ben and Jerry's by the abbey) and saw that they had Sticky Toffee Pudding.
Heaven in a bowl.
I don't normally eat butterscotch (my dad likes butterscotch pudding, but I won't touch the stuff) but I am a huge fan of Sticky Toffee Pudding, specifically with custard. You have to be careful with that first couple of mouthfuls because you'll burn yourself pretty spectacularly, but after that it's bliss.
I had curry for the first time on Saturday night. It was good (I'm still not a big fan of curry, despite what I told her because, on occasion, a Sagittarius can be tactful) and after watching more DVR'd Rugby than you should probably watch in one sitting (though when Scotland plays, they have bagpipes and music by The Proclaimers) and then she wanted to watch something about America in the fifties and sixties. Something about the American Dream.
And that's kind of where the night went to hell in a handbag.
I'm sitting here struggling how to word this. How to start this.
Yes, I'm a scientist. A chemist, more specifically. I know that the creation of the atomic bomb was a great development in complete science terms. Forget everything but the science. If you look at just that, it was a great advancement. And I like advancements in science; maybe one day science will find a cure for cancer, and that would be awesome.
Now go back and factor everything else about the end of World War II into the equation with that science, and the fallout - literal and figurative - from dropping Fat Man and Little Boy. The understatement of the century would be to say it wasn't good. Thousands of people died, and even more are, in some cases, still suffering the after-affects of that this day. Their parents or grandparents had radiation sickness. Buildings were leveled, people died. Without getting too much into the politics, it was a very bad thing. Understatement? You betcha.
I'm sitting in this armchair and I'm hopin' that we can get off this topic and move on because it's not the greatest, and it's not one of America's finer moments, when my host goes, "That's the best thing that America could have ever done, drop those bombs on Japan."
I was speechless. Absolutely speechless.
It was also a struggle not to say anything because what exactly was I supposed to say to the woman who had taken me into her house for the weekend, fed me, gave me someplace to sleep, and had drove me into town? So, and this was by no means easy, I kept my mouth shut and hoped she wouldn't say anything else along those lines. Mostly because I was so infuriated that she had such a disregard for human life and the lasting effects of something of that magnitude, but also because, wouldn't you think something like that might offend someone?
I was still pretty mad by the time we hit the sixties in the program. And they got talking about homosexuality, how there was a beach in California that was known as the Queer Beach, and this guy was talking about a sort of pseudo-affair thing that he'd had, and the next thing I know she's pressed he fast forward button (she'd recorded the program) with a, "Too much talk about homosexuality."
Still sittin' in my armchair, grindin' my back teeth together.
Then she starts to speak about the dissolution of marriages and how homosexuality undermines what's a natural marriage. How it leads to depression in both the parents and the children. Basically, how pushing homosexuality has destroyed natural families.
I was downright livid by the time she pushed play, but also trying to figure out what exactly I should do. Again, I was in this conundrum of, do I say something? If I do, what do I say? How do I say it? Or is this another occasion to just keep my mouth shut?
Actually, what I really wanted was out of there. I honestly didn't want to be in the house anymore. If she had been closer to the city of Bath, closer to other places to stay, I would have packed my belongings in the night and left because I did not want to be there anymore. And I debated getting up and leaving the room. Then I thought if I did that, she'd want to know why I'd done it, and I didn't really want to talk about it.
Mostly because I didn't want to offend the person that had opened their home to me for the weekend.
It was a struggle for me to enjoy the rest of my time there. There wasn't much left, truthfully, and even though I went with her to her church - St. Mary's - and I was respectful of the service (because I do have manners and I know how to behave) I just really wanted out. I wanted to be as far away from this woman as I could possibly be. I just wanted to get on the train and go back to Wales and, honestly, never see her or hear her again.
At one point I was counting minutes.
Bath is a nice city. There's not really much to do other than shopping, but there's some pretty neat pubs and shops and architecture to look at. And now, honestly, I'm struggling to not let the last half of my interactions with this woman color the entire trip for me. It's difficult.
Gimme a week and ask me what I think of Bath. By that point I might not be so pissed off.
There's this great organization called Host UK. What happens is if you're a student from another country, you can fill out an application, tell them where you're studying, what you're interested in, and how much you'd be willing to spend on travel, and they put you up with one of their hosts for the weekend. Your host feeds you, gives you a place to stay, and usually sort of shows you around the UK town they live in.
I spent this past weekend in Bath, England. My host was over sixty, and had lost her husband little over a year ago. But that was okay, because she seemed really enthusiastic about hosting and she' had done this plenty of times before. And I didn't think it was a big deal that she was about fifteen minutes late to pick me up, because, and I was looking right at it, traffic was chaotic. I can understand that. That's fine. And our first little trip out to a place called Wells to see the abbey and bishop's palace, that was cool, too. The church was absolutely awesome (if you're still stalking around my Photobucket, I'm working on it, though that seems to be Louise's Famous Last Words, but you know me) and that was a really nice way to start the weekend off. I'd been on a train for three hours, then sat in a car for another half an hour, got out and wandered around an abbey, and then back into the car and we drove to her house, where I would be staying. I had my own bathroom - down the hall toward the kitchen - and I had my own room. And it was nearly the size of my one at home in New York, so it was pretty big. It was really nice. She has a lot to offer these kids that come stay with her - which, from my understanding, are a lot of Chinese students because they come over to England for university a lot of the time.
Cottage pie for dinner followed by a sort of apple cake thing that had been warmed in the oven, and we watched a little TV and talked about what was going to happen the next day. The woman is over sixty. Walking is not her strong point, and you know damn well I'm prepared to hike all over the place if it means I can see all that I can see and do all I can do. So she was just going to drop me off in the middle of Bath, by the abbey and the Roman Baths, and I would catch the two hour tour that was leaving from there. I'd see all sorts of things.
Honestly, it reminded me of when we went to Toronto for class in the spring. Most of Toronto's speakers involved wandering around and looking at social housing, mixed housing, and that sort of thing. In Bath? You looked at Georgian architecture and talked about the heavy Roman influence and how the place had been a spa for the rich and maybe not-so-famous. The Circus was a great piece of architecture (a circle with three roads coming in all equally spaced apart, really a thing of beauty) and the Royal Crescent was nice, too. It's a crescent-shaped building. And, of course, the Roman Baths because that's what made the place famous to begin with. And really, once you've seen all of that, you've really seen Bath.
I wandered through the Roman Baths. They still function - they've actually opened a new spa right behind the Roman Baths that uses the natural hot spring water that bubbles up - but you can't swim in them because, well, the water's green from algae. There's no roof on the thing, so the sunlight hits the water, and the algae grows.
Another interesting point is that the sheets of lead that surround the pool? They're still there, and still watertight. I heard that and I immediately thought of something along the lines of lead poisoning, anyone? But apparently not. And no, it's not much warmer by the water than outside the building.
Right next to the Roman Baths is Bath Abbey. It's a fraction of the size of the Norman church that used to stand there, but it's still impressive. Along the sides of the front door is a Jacob's Ladder, in which there are angels ascending to heaven. I felt really bad for the bottom angels, because they were missing their heads - most likely due to erosion - but everything else was pretty much intact on the outside.
In Bath Abbey, you can go on what's called the Tower Tour. You get to go up into the tower and see the back of the clock face and see the bells. You learn about how they ring them - because, yes, they still have bell ringers, and it's not as easy as it sounds if you want the real deal - and we were actually in the bell room when the clock struck two. The only reason that we weren't deafened was because the mechanical parts hit the bell with a hammer, it doesn't swing like a bell ringer is doing it. If we had been in the room when they - especially the tenner bell - were swinging, you'd kiss your hearing goodbye.
As my host was coming to pick me up at half four (four-thirty), that didn't really leave me a lot of time to find lunch and then get to where she was picking me up, after seeing everything that I had wanted to.
I thought it very appropriate to work on Murphy and Me while in a Irish pub sipping on a pint of Caffrey's and waiting for my BBQ chicken melt. The chips were excellent, the melt not so much, and the beer was, as usual, good.
Once again with my map and on foot, I hoofed it to the William Herschel Museum - and was not very impressed with it, I'll tell you that, and I don't really care that the guy did live in that house - and then was craving something sweet for some reason. Which meant that I found a pub (because I didn't have time to walk all the way back to the Ben and Jerry's by the abbey) and saw that they had Sticky Toffee Pudding.
Heaven in a bowl.
I don't normally eat butterscotch (my dad likes butterscotch pudding, but I won't touch the stuff) but I am a huge fan of Sticky Toffee Pudding, specifically with custard. You have to be careful with that first couple of mouthfuls because you'll burn yourself pretty spectacularly, but after that it's bliss.
I had curry for the first time on Saturday night. It was good (I'm still not a big fan of curry, despite what I told her because, on occasion, a Sagittarius can be tactful) and after watching more DVR'd Rugby than you should probably watch in one sitting (though when Scotland plays, they have bagpipes and music by The Proclaimers) and then she wanted to watch something about America in the fifties and sixties. Something about the American Dream.
And that's kind of where the night went to hell in a handbag.
I'm sitting here struggling how to word this. How to start this.
Yes, I'm a scientist. A chemist, more specifically. I know that the creation of the atomic bomb was a great development in complete science terms. Forget everything but the science. If you look at just that, it was a great advancement. And I like advancements in science; maybe one day science will find a cure for cancer, and that would be awesome.
Now go back and factor everything else about the end of World War II into the equation with that science, and the fallout - literal and figurative - from dropping Fat Man and Little Boy. The understatement of the century would be to say it wasn't good. Thousands of people died, and even more are, in some cases, still suffering the after-affects of that this day. Their parents or grandparents had radiation sickness. Buildings were leveled, people died. Without getting too much into the politics, it was a very bad thing. Understatement? You betcha.
I'm sitting in this armchair and I'm hopin' that we can get off this topic and move on because it's not the greatest, and it's not one of America's finer moments, when my host goes, "That's the best thing that America could have ever done, drop those bombs on Japan."
I was speechless. Absolutely speechless.
It was also a struggle not to say anything because what exactly was I supposed to say to the woman who had taken me into her house for the weekend, fed me, gave me someplace to sleep, and had drove me into town? So, and this was by no means easy, I kept my mouth shut and hoped she wouldn't say anything else along those lines. Mostly because I was so infuriated that she had such a disregard for human life and the lasting effects of something of that magnitude, but also because, wouldn't you think something like that might offend someone?
I was still pretty mad by the time we hit the sixties in the program. And they got talking about homosexuality, how there was a beach in California that was known as the Queer Beach, and this guy was talking about a sort of pseudo-affair thing that he'd had, and the next thing I know she's pressed he fast forward button (she'd recorded the program) with a, "Too much talk about homosexuality."
Still sittin' in my armchair, grindin' my back teeth together.
Then she starts to speak about the dissolution of marriages and how homosexuality undermines what's a natural marriage. How it leads to depression in both the parents and the children. Basically, how pushing homosexuality has destroyed natural families.
I was downright livid by the time she pushed play, but also trying to figure out what exactly I should do. Again, I was in this conundrum of, do I say something? If I do, what do I say? How do I say it? Or is this another occasion to just keep my mouth shut?
Actually, what I really wanted was out of there. I honestly didn't want to be in the house anymore. If she had been closer to the city of Bath, closer to other places to stay, I would have packed my belongings in the night and left because I did not want to be there anymore. And I debated getting up and leaving the room. Then I thought if I did that, she'd want to know why I'd done it, and I didn't really want to talk about it.
Mostly because I didn't want to offend the person that had opened their home to me for the weekend.
It was a struggle for me to enjoy the rest of my time there. There wasn't much left, truthfully, and even though I went with her to her church - St. Mary's - and I was respectful of the service (because I do have manners and I know how to behave) I just really wanted out. I wanted to be as far away from this woman as I could possibly be. I just wanted to get on the train and go back to Wales and, honestly, never see her or hear her again.
At one point I was counting minutes.
Bath is a nice city. There's not really much to do other than shopping, but there's some pretty neat pubs and shops and architecture to look at. And now, honestly, I'm struggling to not let the last half of my interactions with this woman color the entire trip for me. It's difficult.
Gimme a week and ask me what I think of Bath. By that point I might not be so pissed off.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Things to Know: International Edition V
- The very large London recap post is in its way, along with an An Adventuring Focus post, too, because, well, we all that know that when I have both my Focus and my sister's, they can't ever behave themselves appropriately.
- I've made my schedule for next semester; the way it looks at the moment is that Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays will be stuffed until early afternoon, and depending on which fourth class I take, I just might either have only one class on Tuesdays or have that day completely off with a class on Thursdays.
- I think I can roll with that.
- I'm going to be the only junior in the intro Geoscience course.
- Can also roll with that.
- Should be a way to make new friends, gather some more readership maybe, and definitely recruit for martini.
- I've missed a bit of drama on campus - namely, the student governments bailing out The Herald because they seem to have under-proposed from BAC and might have to print fewer editions.
- And did I mention that they reflect nicely on the colleges?
- This isn't going to be pretty.
- I need to desperately go grocery shopping.
- That's actually where I'm going after I do this post, take a shower, make a list, gather my bags, and hike towards town.
- I also need to do laundry, mostly because I don't have any socks left.
- My mother arrives on Sunday for a week.
- This is very exciting; she's going to stay in town and we'll go off gallyvanting and such.
- The only issue is that I need to register for spring semester classes at high noon (my time) on Wednesday, so we kind of need to be here for that.
- I wrote about eight more pages in the novel, have the urge to write more, and really want to get this thing done.
- Maybe before the end of November, as that's when National Novel Writing Months ends.
- Which, if you missed the previous post, I'm not doing this year because I'd rather finish/work on something that I've already got started than start something I might not finish.
- If someone tells me one more time to chop that second to last paragraph on Murphy and Me to make it shorter, I'm going to tell them they need to go back to reading picture books and coloring with crayons - pull on your big boy pants, suck it up, and read it.
- If these kids are all in high school, aren't they reading textbooks, too? And textbooks, last I knew, had long paragraphs in them with not very many pictures the higher up in school you got.
- Oh, I feel like ranting. Maybe a little raving.
- And, in all seriousness, doing a post titled The Things I Learned in High School is getting more and more appealing by the day.
- I've made my schedule for next semester; the way it looks at the moment is that Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays will be stuffed until early afternoon, and depending on which fourth class I take, I just might either have only one class on Tuesdays or have that day completely off with a class on Thursdays.
- I think I can roll with that.
- I'm going to be the only junior in the intro Geoscience course.
- Can also roll with that.
- Should be a way to make new friends, gather some more readership maybe, and definitely recruit for martini.
- I've missed a bit of drama on campus - namely, the student governments bailing out The Herald because they seem to have under-proposed from BAC and might have to print fewer editions.
- And did I mention that they reflect nicely on the colleges?
- This isn't going to be pretty.
- I need to desperately go grocery shopping.
- That's actually where I'm going after I do this post, take a shower, make a list, gather my bags, and hike towards town.
- I also need to do laundry, mostly because I don't have any socks left.
- My mother arrives on Sunday for a week.
- This is very exciting; she's going to stay in town and we'll go off gallyvanting and such.
- The only issue is that I need to register for spring semester classes at high noon (my time) on Wednesday, so we kind of need to be here for that.
- I wrote about eight more pages in the novel, have the urge to write more, and really want to get this thing done.
- Maybe before the end of November, as that's when National Novel Writing Months ends.
- Which, if you missed the previous post, I'm not doing this year because I'd rather finish/work on something that I've already got started than start something I might not finish.
- If someone tells me one more time to chop that second to last paragraph on Murphy and Me to make it shorter, I'm going to tell them they need to go back to reading picture books and coloring with crayons - pull on your big boy pants, suck it up, and read it.
- If these kids are all in high school, aren't they reading textbooks, too? And textbooks, last I knew, had long paragraphs in them with not very many pictures the higher up in school you got.
- Oh, I feel like ranting. Maybe a little raving.
- And, in all seriousness, doing a post titled The Things I Learned in High School is getting more and more appealing by the day.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Inside Screaming
It's been a while since I've been frustrated enough to want to scream obscenities at the sky and stamp my feet like a three-year-old. I mean, it's been a good thirteen, fourteen years since I've wanted to do that, but dear God in heaven was I ready to carry on like someone had taken away every holiday that had ever existed this afternoon.
Working with kids is a test of patience. Granted, I have more than my fair share especially when dealing with other people's children, but I'm no saint. My buttons can be pressed just as regularly and as easily as everyone else's. Which was why when I got back to the flat this afternoon for my lunch hour, I was already kind of tired and more than a little frustrated at trying to get particularly unmotivated children to do what they were supposed to be doing. Especially the ones that have their own agenda and would rather you piss off so they can continue doing as they were doing.
That I can deal with, and I was really glad that I was going back to the relative quietness that was my flat on a weekday. Even that stench that accompanies a wet wool coat didn't really bug me yet, and generally it makes me think I stink.
I decided I was going to have pancakes for lunch. Odd, I know, but this is me we're talking about. That and I really didn't want to eat the plain rice from last night because it was the only thing that I really had available. That and maybe a bowl of oatmeal, Tesco brand frosted flakes, and whatever else I could rustle up that didn't involve either bread or tortilla wraps. Or the minced beef in the fridge that accidentally got left out the other night when I made dirty rice. Eating that just might kill me and I haven't been brave enough to bring it out of the freezer yet and do something with it.
Anyhoo, here I am in the kitchen mowing my way through one pancake while the other one - slightly massive because I'm using the rest of the batter so I don't waste food - and we're just generally having kitchen conversation. So, I take my frying pan off the heat, go to get myself a glass of milk, and hear one of my flat mate's saying, "You're not leaving that there, eh?"
Slightly confused, I look to where he's pointing - my batter bowl. Now, I had every intention of at least rinsing it. I nearly always do when it's not my day to do the dishes because I figure that helps the people who's day it is. And I'm just staring at him, like, RUFKM? And he's completely serious as he tells me to wash it because otherwise it's going to be a mess.
Hold the phone. Today is not my day to do the dishes. Today is actually his day.
And believe me, the amount of shit that I have washed out of various pots and pans in that kitchen has been incredible. Including his dirty dishes, which, he will just leave there.
But no. I'm told to that before I can leave - unless I want to wear the rest of that batter on the inside of that bowl - it needs to be washed. Not by him, who's day it is, but by me.
Very rarely have I wanted to lay into someone so badly for something so trivial. Yes, I recognize that it's just dishes. Though I will say this; this is the same guy that was foolin' around in the kitchen, sliced his toe open on something by stepping on the bin bag, and then refused to clean up his own blood smears on the kitchen floor because it wasn't his day. Two guesses as to who's day it was to clean the kitchen.
Mine.
That kitchen effin' sparkled when I was done, mostly because I was incredibly pissed off, homesick, and generally needed to calm the hell down. So I cleaned.
So I go back to school, try to leave everything at the door, and every one of my kids seems determined to step either on my last nerve or push every button I possess like a fancy elevator.
I'm pretty damn near the edge and ready to snap. And it's going to be anything but pretty when it happens.
Working with kids is a test of patience. Granted, I have more than my fair share especially when dealing with other people's children, but I'm no saint. My buttons can be pressed just as regularly and as easily as everyone else's. Which was why when I got back to the flat this afternoon for my lunch hour, I was already kind of tired and more than a little frustrated at trying to get particularly unmotivated children to do what they were supposed to be doing. Especially the ones that have their own agenda and would rather you piss off so they can continue doing as they were doing.
That I can deal with, and I was really glad that I was going back to the relative quietness that was my flat on a weekday. Even that stench that accompanies a wet wool coat didn't really bug me yet, and generally it makes me think I stink.
I decided I was going to have pancakes for lunch. Odd, I know, but this is me we're talking about. That and I really didn't want to eat the plain rice from last night because it was the only thing that I really had available. That and maybe a bowl of oatmeal, Tesco brand frosted flakes, and whatever else I could rustle up that didn't involve either bread or tortilla wraps. Or the minced beef in the fridge that accidentally got left out the other night when I made dirty rice. Eating that just might kill me and I haven't been brave enough to bring it out of the freezer yet and do something with it.
Anyhoo, here I am in the kitchen mowing my way through one pancake while the other one - slightly massive because I'm using the rest of the batter so I don't waste food - and we're just generally having kitchen conversation. So, I take my frying pan off the heat, go to get myself a glass of milk, and hear one of my flat mate's saying, "You're not leaving that there, eh?"
Slightly confused, I look to where he's pointing - my batter bowl. Now, I had every intention of at least rinsing it. I nearly always do when it's not my day to do the dishes because I figure that helps the people who's day it is. And I'm just staring at him, like, RUFKM? And he's completely serious as he tells me to wash it because otherwise it's going to be a mess.
Hold the phone. Today is not my day to do the dishes. Today is actually his day.
And believe me, the amount of shit that I have washed out of various pots and pans in that kitchen has been incredible. Including his dirty dishes, which, he will just leave there.
But no. I'm told to that before I can leave - unless I want to wear the rest of that batter on the inside of that bowl - it needs to be washed. Not by him, who's day it is, but by me.
Very rarely have I wanted to lay into someone so badly for something so trivial. Yes, I recognize that it's just dishes. Though I will say this; this is the same guy that was foolin' around in the kitchen, sliced his toe open on something by stepping on the bin bag, and then refused to clean up his own blood smears on the kitchen floor because it wasn't his day. Two guesses as to who's day it was to clean the kitchen.
Mine.
That kitchen effin' sparkled when I was done, mostly because I was incredibly pissed off, homesick, and generally needed to calm the hell down. So I cleaned.
So I go back to school, try to leave everything at the door, and every one of my kids seems determined to step either on my last nerve or push every button I possess like a fancy elevator.
I'm pretty damn near the edge and ready to snap. And it's going to be anything but pretty when it happens.
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