Turning 31
Had a wonderful birthday.
I am tired so this will be short.
Rose Garden: simply beautiful. Had yummy rösti for lunch. Went to the Paul Klee museum. Geeked out over his Novalis-inspired The Blue Flower; drew connection with Penelope Fitzgerald's novel of the same name, about Novalis, which I loved.
Found out in the museum that I've been accepted at a doctoral conference in Yale. YALE. AS IN AMERICA. I can't believe I'm finally going to the US!
And of course, Roger being considerate and winning his Wimbledon semi-final on the account of my birthday.
And then realising how awesome my parents are when it was past 7pm and we'd been in the hotel room for the past 2 hours watching Federer. Or rather, I wanted to watch Federer; they didn't mind as they like him too, but they could've gone out for dinner and maybe would have preferred to. No one else in the world would have done this for me.
In the end, I said fuck it to the third set and fuck yes to dinner (cheese fondue for the first time ever; was good but tasted like mushroom soup. Raclette was all right).
Need to sleep! Jungfraujoch tomorrow!