I should be writing about Icelandic
...but I'm not. There's nothing specifically due tomorrow and I should be doing all the things that are due on Tuesday or Wednesday. But that's somehow much harder than it would be to do something that would, hypothetically, be due tomorrow.
I just returned from New Jersey, which was wonderful for reasons that had nothing to do with New Jersey. A bunch of college friends congregated at one couple's apartment and acted beautifully immature and then all slept over. Apparently you really can fit a lot more people on the living room floor of a tiny apartment than you would expect, providing that they are all very good friends. (At two different points during the night I woke to find that my aggressive bed-pig of a boyfriend had shoved a person - once me and once not - over by about two feet from where they had previously been. It never seemed to wake Maryna up, though. Or Nathaniel, who she was rolled into. I am amused. Apparently Ben and I deserve eachother, though. Everyone else I've ever slept next to has complained about my kicking or my theft of the center of the bed...)
It's kind of strange to have it really brought home to me that I am now one of those people who can't give any sort of depth to the answer to "What are you studying? / How's work?" This was brought home to me both at the party and in a phone conversation earlier in the week in which one of my friends tried to explain to me the command structure of the Marines and then asked me for details on what I was doing. He rapidly realised that he didn't want details. I was far more interested in the Marines than he is in syntax.... Similarly, I feel that many of my friends in grad school can far better explain to me what they are studying than I can to them. I at least know SOME physics. The average college student has not, however, taken, say Ling 101. (Okay. Maybe at UMass...) Ah well. I clearly have a fetish for the obscure.
Addition to the last post: Grad school is also kind of like high school. I am playing the E-flat clarinet. I am also morris dancing on a team where my ex-boyfriend is considered some sort of folk-dance rock star. (He is. My taste in men is impeccable. :P)
I just returned from New Jersey, which was wonderful for reasons that had nothing to do with New Jersey. A bunch of college friends congregated at one couple's apartment and acted beautifully immature and then all slept over. Apparently you really can fit a lot more people on the living room floor of a tiny apartment than you would expect, providing that they are all very good friends. (At two different points during the night I woke to find that my aggressive bed-pig of a boyfriend had shoved a person - once me and once not - over by about two feet from where they had previously been. It never seemed to wake Maryna up, though. Or Nathaniel, who she was rolled into. I am amused. Apparently Ben and I deserve eachother, though. Everyone else I've ever slept next to has complained about my kicking or my theft of the center of the bed...)
It's kind of strange to have it really brought home to me that I am now one of those people who can't give any sort of depth to the answer to "What are you studying? / How's work?" This was brought home to me both at the party and in a phone conversation earlier in the week in which one of my friends tried to explain to me the command structure of the Marines and then asked me for details on what I was doing. He rapidly realised that he didn't want details. I was far more interested in the Marines than he is in syntax.... Similarly, I feel that many of my friends in grad school can far better explain to me what they are studying than I can to them. I at least know SOME physics. The average college student has not, however, taken, say Ling 101. (Okay. Maybe at UMass...) Ah well. I clearly have a fetish for the obscure.
Addition to the last post: Grad school is also kind of like high school. I am playing the E-flat clarinet. I am also morris dancing on a team where my ex-boyfriend is considered some sort of folk-dance rock star. (He is. My taste in men is impeccable. :P)