One of those nights. God I miss Cambridge.
found some notes from Cambridge. for yeezus’ sake, i don’t want to study for the GRE, i wanna be in grad school Right. Now.
English faculty, right? :’(
sry that I can’t let go of Cam after a year and am living vicariously through you. it’s fine. I’m fine.
i have so many things to tell you about, piling up on one another - brilliant, mind-blowing lectures, amazing new friends, dinner parties, pints with the man who’s about to take over cs lewis’ old position at oxford, punting, conversations, drunken shenanigans, but precisely because of all these things i keep running out of time. right now i’m about to be late for dinner, so i’ll have to leave it at: i and some friends are going to a performance of a midsummer night’s dream at the above college tonight, and tomorrow i see the tempest at the globe. i’m living in a dream world; i’m the luckiest girl.
& i love you all. xx
Are you studying at Homerton???? This looks like my old view from Queen’s Wing!
throwback (freeform thoughts)
Every time I send a gargantuan message to my three best friends from Cambridge, I get so excited for a response that I am incapable of thinking of anything else.
Been feeling a little deflated lately because (1) I miss these ladies like hell (2) I miss Cam like hell and (3) I am really and truly not ready to accept that I am not going back to school in the fall. May was such a rush that I was happy to get graduation over with, but……. shit. I miss my professors and classes and the Senior House and three other Lit and Theory majors at William Jewell like hell too. At least I’m still in Kansas City and close to some of my other favorite people in the world who are still at Jewell… Still, though, I’m taking the year off of school working 8-5 and I already feel like I’m failing to push myself and work toward anything. I’m stagnant, in limbo, and it’s as if one of my greatest sources of anxiety is alive and well.
The fear is an exaggerated life of its own, though, and the truth is that I am working toward grad school, freelance writing and my own creative projects. These moods always pass. I just have to remind myself that to get back to the UK (or EU) and J & J & L, I’ve gotta go back to school and work hard, which isn’t remaining stagnant at all.
I once interviewed a friend about the blog he kept whilst he was abroad, and he said that he stopped writing because it returning to it would be as if he was trying to relive or hold on to the past. And of course there’s the whole high-school-curriculum-Gatsby moral (not to say I don’t like Gatsby—I’m just sayin’, the book is way more nuanced than any high school class could cover), and the Doctor Who lessons of accepting change. I’m not stuck in the past. I’m using my memories to fuel my goals and push me forward and explore and create, and I think that’s pretty healthy.
Spires of the night climbers #cambridge
“On another occasion, in the early light of dawn, we saw a porter in Trinity standing by the river, looking at us. A rapid ascent of the Tower was made for a daylight photograph and by an extremely rapid descent we were away in time. This was soon after two men had been rusticated for climbing King’s Chapel, and the ascent of the last forty feet after he had been seen, with the prospect of a ninety foot descent before he could get away, was a good performance. The climber was in his last term, and desperately anxious not to be sent down, but he completed the job.”
- ‘whipplesnaith’, the night climber\s guide to cambridg’
home home home
one year back in the States
Today I visited the journalism school at Mizzou because I’ve decided that I love reporting and school way too much to handle this year off, and it’s time to get my master’s. I put on my professional voice and listed my academic accomplishments, including studying at Cambridge… I thought about Cam a lot today. And it still tears my heart into these stringy, disconnected ruptures when I remember how much I loved simply walking through the streets of that city to the centre, or to the English faculty for my supervisions, or even to far-out colleges for my supervisions. My romantic life hasn’t exactly been swell for the past year, but no man can ever break my heart with the same persistence and pain that a city can.
"place is absolutely essential"
Waiting for my friends who have extra spending money to come home from bars and school formals.
In the meantime, feel free to read my last column EVER for The Hilltop Monitor, my college’s newspaper. Here’s an excerpt:
“’I mean, I’m not that sentimental…’” I said a couple of weeks ago at Harry’s in Westport. A certain editor-in-chief (we’ll call her Shtara Shmoreland) and I were celebrating Colloquium Day and Night of Honors with a few drinks in Kansas City, and I was trying to gauge whether the tall and handsome young man who had stolen my water was legitimately from England as he asked about my thoughts on college graduation.
I wasn’t convinced that his accent was legitimate, but nonetheless my mind, slightly unhinged with the help of tequila and gin, couldn’t help but return to Cambridge, England, where I spent my junior year abroad. I remembered my three best girlfriends and our over-the-top planning for themed College bops (my choice to spend money on a neon pink wig for our “rave” was solid), the aptly-named Suicide Sunday spent drinking Strongbow in Jesus Green in May sunshine at 2 p.m., and the multiple day trips I took to London, pleased to be alone and lost and falling in love with such a winding hodgepodge of a city. “