"You only long for a place when you weren't really there to begin with," Linda said today. "When you were either caught up in the past or the future." An interesting, perhaps obvious idea. It makes sense. The places I can conjure at any moment are the ones I know like the back of my hand--Fairfield, the Cape, and Sarah Lawrence. Because I've spent years and years in all three. "Spend the next few weeks just sitting, observing," Linda told me. "Then no matter where you are, you'll always be able to go back."

So much of the last few weeks has become conflated, tied up with anxiety about leaving, inherent self consciousness, whatever it is I'm looking for. Projected onto other people, other things. "You have this fantasy world going," Jeff said last week. "It's because you're a writer." True. Or maybe it's just because I'm me. I guess you remember the good & leave out all the rest. I guess that's the best way to remember--at least this year.

So--what comes to mind at this very moment: first Oxford snowfall, running outside Merifield at midnight, bundled into sweatshirts and boots, everyone as giddy as little kids; Shawshank Redemption at the end of first term, a quiet night at home, Jeff running out to get wine; our first London excursion; the pub crawl during Fresher's Week, just for my inebriated comment to Alex about the exchange rate, and our bonding on the walk home; Halloween ghost tour with Amy; Christmas dinner in Hall; the lowkey days before term picks up, as we all trickle back to the flat. Every bop once we became close with the Brits. Spur of the moment London coffee date/ cute-boy flirty texts all the way through Europe. "You have interesting eyes." Exeter Ball debauchery; Manaka's birthday night at Bridge / piggy back rides down George Street at two in the morning / the night-before-Mayday / Wadstock Nelson-Mandela. And the Nelson Mandela at the end of Hilary term. Actually, pretty much every Nelson Mandela. The day the exchange rate dropped to 1.3 and we all rushed out to buy wine & desserts & things we didn't need. February snowstorms; Girls-only Valentine's day party; wandering around Bath with my best friend. Canterbury hotel rooms with Alex & inside jokes. Fireworks outside my window on Guy Fawkes night; lazy afternoons at Blackwells; Radcliffe Square at night. Twilight with Che; Oxford Autumn/Spring. When Cari came to visit. The fairy-like gardens of Anne Boleyn's home in Kent. Aimless walks with the girls in Summertown.

Lots of things.