Oxford

patagonia

I have a strong suspicion this song is what made me adopt jesus christ as my swear word (phrase?) of choice recently. It feels a lot more blasphemous than just god or even christ. In any case, this was my earworm last week and I was very at ease with that subconscious choice until I took a look at the Youtube comments and realized most of them were about suicides. I then went to check out the lyrics properly and all became clear:

Well, Jesus Christ, I’m not scared to die,
I’m a little bit scared of what comes after
Do I get the gold chariot?
Do I float through the ceiling?

Do I divide and fall apart?
’cause my bright is too slight to hold back all my dark
And the ship went down in sight of land
And at the gates does Thomas ask to see my hands

I know you’re coming in the night like a thief
But I’ve had some time, O Lord, to hone my lying technique
I know you think that I’m someone you can trust
But I’m scared I’ll get scared and I swear I’ll try to nail you back up

This guy is literally talking to Jesus. Still a gorgeous song, though.

This also threatens to be a long post, and some sort of striking summation of my first term seems fitting, but I do not yet have the perspective to do that. Whether due to cumulative fatigue over this fairly riotous last week or the phantom pathos of Pearson departures, departure from college today proceeded through a sort of daze. After I hefted my two ridiculously heavy suitcases down the stairs, I paused in the kitchen and stared into space for a good while, trying to get my bearings. Out in the driveway, cars were wedged as efficiently as possible, and people pushed carts full of personal paraphernalia around. It was oddly unceremonious. Most people I left without saying goodbye – and it really isn’t goodbye. There wasn’t the sense of solidarity I’m used to, of people clambering onto buses headed for town, of what looks like minimal luggage in comparison to the wagon loads I’ve seen today, of the 10 am departure time.

It’s clearly time to learn new shades of leaving. I took a cab with my mercilessly heavy suitcase to my friend’s (insanely swanky) apartment and tried to recalibrate my internal … ballast. Ultimately, it is all about perspective. In the apartment, I felt aimless for about ten minutes before I opened my suitcase, took some photos and then Skyped first my mom (to show her the apartment) and then two absolute dears (who chose to Skype me right after they woke up over brunch – that’s friendship right there). Then, at least three friends are coming over for interviews, one tonight, one in five days and one in six. Then, time to catch up on all my Skype dates while I have proper internet. To even consider the word ‘alone’ seems a ludicrous thought – I only have to set my gaze further.

At the same time, there is something jarring about watching most everyone return home, as casually sure as migratory birds. It is like the knife-edge between dream and reality, only it seems unclear which is Oxford life at this juncture; it is my present but it is easy to falter in that faith when most people seem to be returning to a different reality.

This post refused to finish itself yesterday so I am picking it back up now, a chilly December afternoon, though I suspect it won’t be very coherent, regardless. I have capitulated to the cold and am taking to wearing three sweaters out. Yesterday night and this afternoon we had Thai and Chinese food respectively; the servers in both restaurants were really rude to us for some reason. I am tired of cooking, however, and so my week’s groceries comprise mainly salad, avocados, grapes, cereal and lots of tea. Saw this fascinating video that validates my binge-eating habits: Eating like a Predator. The arguments advanced are admittedly very weak (predators gorge themselves in a single killing and then sleep it off for the next few days, and prey graze constantly, and that’s why the former group is lean and mean??) but still, after all the food propaganda about having small but frequent meals, this counter-advice to have a single large meal a day is very appealing, since that’s what I mostly do, anyway.

Listening to a friend’s radio show in Wellesley – she dedicated a song from one of my favourite albums to me, which is just so darling: Lights Are Changing Colour. Distance conveys an enigmatic depth to these affairs, I think.

In other news, fatigue is finally catching up on me, even after the ten hours I got last night. Contrary to the previous day’s momentary disorientation, I am now relishing the expanse of autonomy these few days, the sort of luxury only the young seem to be able to afford; the relative solitude would also serve to throw France (and the pleasure of company then) into sharper relief. Until then, however, lots of work need to be consolidated !!

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