in which...well, im back.
so, i am now (unofficially until march) a master of arts in medieval studies. feels...i was going to say it feels no different but thats a lie, it feels really fucking good. i put in a lot of work, got good marks, won an award, and wrote a (hopefully!) fairly good dissertation on genealogy and descent as a literary trope in anglo-norman "historical" romance.
home in dc now living with the parents until i figure out my next move. possibly phd next fall if i can get my act together, otherwise playing around and working - maybe here, maybe back in the uk - for 18 months and then a phd program. either option is intimidating.
but for now, having been back in the states for 12 days and home for 10, im still at that stage where all of york - the city and everything that happened there - seems like a lovely dream ive just awakened from on a sunday morning early, in the privileged position of being able to sink back into it and try to conjure up the strange chemical reaction that brought it forth in the first place. today, actually, i took the first step toward making it real: i bought picture frames. on the table in the corner of my room is a large carved wooden frame with a picture i took on the isle of lewis in the hebrides last christmas. the standing stones there, older by far than stonehenge, with the swirl of hebridean sky reeling overhead. next to my bed, a shot of myself with the boy i am or was dating over there - we're weening ourselves, slowly: hes coming to visit for thanksgiving in november and though i wont fool myself as to what will happen when we're together here, i suppose that will be another end and another beginning for our friendship - and next to us a view of york from high up: the market, the minster, and the wordsworthian puffs of english tobacco-smoke cloud. by putting memories in frames, i always feel i give them stability and hence valid purpose. this moment happened and i want its papery record here with me, standing of its own accord.
home in dc now living with the parents until i figure out my next move. possibly phd next fall if i can get my act together, otherwise playing around and working - maybe here, maybe back in the uk - for 18 months and then a phd program. either option is intimidating.
but for now, having been back in the states for 12 days and home for 10, im still at that stage where all of york - the city and everything that happened there - seems like a lovely dream ive just awakened from on a sunday morning early, in the privileged position of being able to sink back into it and try to conjure up the strange chemical reaction that brought it forth in the first place. today, actually, i took the first step toward making it real: i bought picture frames. on the table in the corner of my room is a large carved wooden frame with a picture i took on the isle of lewis in the hebrides last christmas. the standing stones there, older by far than stonehenge, with the swirl of hebridean sky reeling overhead. next to my bed, a shot of myself with the boy i am or was dating over there - we're weening ourselves, slowly: hes coming to visit for thanksgiving in november and though i wont fool myself as to what will happen when we're together here, i suppose that will be another end and another beginning for our friendship - and next to us a view of york from high up: the market, the minster, and the wordsworthian puffs of english tobacco-smoke cloud. by putting memories in frames, i always feel i give them stability and hence valid purpose. this moment happened and i want its papery record here with me, standing of its own accord.