"falling slowly, eyes that know me, and I can't go back"

As predicted, as soon as I actually arrived in Oxford, all the anxiety I was feeling about returning passed. The flight wasn't bad; I was okay mostly, and only panicked a little during takeoff, at which point the woman sitting next to me asked if I was ok, and if I wanted her to take my hand. She did, and we ended up chatting for a while, about authors we both like and places we've been; about my life in Oxford; about hers as an Israeli diplomat living in Moscow for the past year. I never got her name, and she disappeared before I could say goodbye.

It felt ironic, given a conversation I had had while waiting to board in JFK.

Landed at Heathrow around 630 in the morning, then proceeded to drag myself into Oxford by 10, with a splitting headache and thinking only of falling into bed, which I did, for about three hours, before Mark & Jeff roused me, and I set about doing the things that needed to be done--unpacking, food shopping, etc. Alex showed up a few hours later and we headed to the co-op to collect the essentials. The essentials being wine, of course, and the necessary ingredients for our welcome-home-to-the-flat dinner. Watched Gossip Girl at night with the SLC girls next door, then fell into bed around 2; realized I had been up at that point for almost 36 hours straight.

Amy gets back tonight, which will be good. Hopefully Eunice will make it into Oxford from London tomorrow for lunch, and Cari comes as well for two days. Then it's all about work, work, work, this weekend. My evaluations from my tutors were both good--an A from Ballam, A+, surprisingly, from Linda. And now I know what I can improve this term as well. Still, not looking forward to writing that Gertrude Stein essay this weekend. I really think I need to read the last ten pages of Three Lives whilst intoxicated. Need to hit the EFL tomorrow morning to collect sources. Meh. Welcome back, alright. And I know what I'm writing about for my historical fiction tutorial as well--instead of trying to sustain a novella, which didn't quite work for me, I'm going to write invividual vignettes, I think, following the life of a harlequin-turned-picture dealer in the Left Bank in the 20's. Which means, finishing up my Paris research; tracking down images of Picasso's Rose Period, etc. I'm excited.

Now off to do Oxonian Review edits.


This time, I think I actually might be able to leave it all behind.