As you all know, being concise is not really one of my strengths, but I'm going to give it the ol' college try here b/c I don't see how it would be possible for me to remember, compose, and type everythg. that has happened since my last entry. In an effort to facilitate my attempt at an organized, abbreviated entry, I will use a numbering format. Unfortunately, this will do v. little to give the entry an organized, abbreviated appearance, as I still have not figured how to make this thg. recognize when I want to put a space b/t paragraphs. Yes, my blog is smarter than me. I've accepted this, you should, too. Moving on to the Top 10 (or 12 or 6, I really don't know yet):
1) I am officially a Master of Letters. Whereas most receive this designation at around age 4, it took me 23 yrs., an exorbitant amt. of tuition money, and a full 12 mos. of cranial torture to achieve this. Go tit! [That will be funny to those who are familiar w/Frang.] Naturally, I could not simply mark this occasion w/a lovely trip to Scotland, a similar sidetrip to England, and a respectable showing at the graduation ceremony. No, instead, I successfully carried out the first two and then opted to make an ass of myself at the critical moment. Actually, 'opted' implies some sort of conscious decision or control over the situation on my part, which is not correct. Recently I have become aware that, despite my best intentions and yrs. of rehearsing for real life in my bedroom and in my head, I am rather more of a jackass than I would prefer. The following is a handy illustration of this unfortunate revelation: In the 600 y.o. ceremony still in use at St. A's, one is meant to walk across the stage, hand off one's hood to the waiting porter, kneel at what appears to be the Altar of Knowledge in front of the Chancellor, wait while he mutters in Latin and taps you on the head w/a piece of cloth that is somehow affiliated w/John Knox's underpants, bask in the knowledge that you are officially 'smart' while the porter places your hood over your head, stand up, bow/curtsy to the Chancellor, and exit the stage w/a confident step, knowing that you are now able to look down on all others who have not been granted the privelege of graduating fr. St. A's (except for those who graduated fr. Oxbridge). Instead, I completed the first four steps well enough, but then got nervous b/c I couldn't tell if the Chancellor was done (since, ya know, I don't speak Latin and I wasn't paying enough attn. to catch what he was reciting). Realizing that he was, indeed, finished speaking, I began to get up, only to be reminded by the rustle of cheap polyester at my ear that the porter had not yet behooden me, causing me to hastily resume my penitent posture in front of the Chancellor. I was so thrown off by this unfortunate occurrence that when I stood up after the porter was finished, I started to simply walk away, forgetting to bow/curtsy to the Chancellor. Belatedly remembering procedure (when it would probably have been better to just walk away), I halted, half-turned, made an awkward bob rather than my intended curtsy, said, "thank you," (UM?) and walked away w/somewhat less than a confident step. I did manage to exit the stage through the appropriate door, which is more than I can say for at least two in my acquaintance (hee hee...), but all in all, it was quite distressing and painful, both to experience and to behold. After the ceremony, I said to Ben (quite upset, naturally), "But I've been practicing my curtsy since I was six yrs. old and the one time I have a real reason to do it, I fuck it up!!", followed by a demonstration of a proper curtsy (which I *can* do!). To which Ben, in typically posh, English form replied, "Oh, is that what you were trying to do?" And that pretty well sums it up. (Aw, I heart Ben!)
2) I cannot possibly recount all of the wonderfully funny/poignant/drunken/happy moments I had during my too-brief return to Scotland, but I felt I should acknowledge them somehow herein, so here it is, my blanket what-a-fabulous time statement: Scotland is the only place to which I can fly and feel as if I am returning home. While I am sure that the natural beauty and charm of that country have a great deal to do w/this sentiment, I also know beyond a doubt that had it not been for the many ppl. who made up my hodgepodge family-away-from-home who were often the only thgs. keeping me sane and -- through it all -- *happy*, I would not feel so warmly toward that country, or abt. my post-grad experience generally. Seeing (most of) you all over that wk. was hands down the highlight of my yr., and will probably be eclipsed in the next 12 mos. only by Eli's homecoming. And only if that involves fireworks. hahaha... Kidding, of course, but, seriously, I love you all dearly and the only way our visit could have been better is if it had been longer. I am still lobbying for all of to buy a house and live together forever -- perhaps the one nr. Creightoun? (But only if Easy Access Olley and BackdoorMan Eamonn work together to demolish that unfortunate addition on the back.) ;)
3) I got into a *slight* verbal altercation w/a shitty rent-a-cop security guard while going through Newark on my way back to Georgia and nearly got arrested. Given this most recent incident and similar such happenings in the past -- all involving ppl. who personify the Southern stereotype of "Yankee" -- I have determined that it would be in my best interest to make a real effort to avoid that airport in the future, esp. when travelling internationally. Unfortunately, until I have a job that pays more than $7/hr. (or shit, until I get any job at all), I will have to travel as inexpensively as possible and this in many cases means passing through Newark. I can only hope that the next time I am forced to deal w/those fuckwits, I will have the self-control and deep breathing needed to hold my tongue w/o spontaneously combusting. Perhaps yoga would help?
4) I saw my friend Kristin after arriving back in the US. For those who do not know, Kristin lived in the same building as me while I was in St. A's and formed an integral part of the Angus House Krew until she was in a devastating accident in March. When I left Scotland in June, she was still unconscious, but was showing signs of improvement (trust me, when you've seen someone lay completely still for wks., every muscle jerk and eye flutter is a blessing for which you are thankful). Happily, Kristin recently regained full consciousness and is now working on recovering, physically and otherwise. She did not remember me or most of the ppl. she knew in St. A's (but she remembered you, Eamonn and perhaps Olley!), and she cannot currently hear or speak. But she can type, so we chatted via keyboard for a couple of hrs. Those who know Kristin and are interested in a detailed update, call/IM/email me. The report is generally good (sentence structure and spelling were quite good and at a level one would expect fr. a person w/her educational background), but she, of course, has a long way to go (in addition to the hearing and memory problems, she is having some trouble using her right leg and her left arm, the latter difficulty being due to insufficient care immediately following her accident -- thanks, Ninewells). She was v. happy to see me, is looking forward to a visit next month fr. our friend Jon, and I sincerely believe she will continue to improve. But while I was w/her I could not help but miss the Kristin we once knew and wonder whether or not she would return to us. And I had to wonder if the silence that prevails in her room when no one is w/her ever moves her family to tears not unlike those we, her other family, shed when watching her sleep in silence all those months ago.
5) Finals sucked, I get my grades back tomorrow, I have never in my life been so distressed regarding an academic performance, and that is saying a lot considering that I spent most of the 2004-2005 school yr. being made to increasingly believe that I was an idiot. That's all I want to say abt. that, but I'll find out for sure tomorrow whether or not my gut feeling is correct. Oh, no, one more thg.: To make this all hurt just that little extra bit more, my Physics prof told me that I had the highest grade in the class going into the final. How shameful, frustrating and disappointing, then, that I should so utterly and completely fail to live up to that on the final.
And on that bright and cheery note, I am off to bed, and I am fighting the compulsion to quote Puck's soliloquy abt. sleeping and dreaming fr. the end of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" b/c I *am* that much of a dork.
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