A weekend of holiday parties is over. I let myself sleep in on Monday morning, turning off all my alarms before I fall asleep. This is a fairly unheard of luxury for me, as my body will sleep for indefinite periods of time without waking. I have to have an alarm or else suddenly it’s twelve hours later and half the day is gone. But I do surprisingly good this time. I sleep for a modest eight and a half hours and I wake up feeling suddenly able to face the next eight days. Just yesterday they seemed daunting and unsurmountable.
Last night we drove to West Linton, forty-five minutes outside Edinburgh and probably beautiful, although by five o’clock it was already too dark to tell. There were silhouettes of mountains in the distance. There were fields that stretched on for miles and dots of light illuminating far off houses. The roads that led us there were sometimes paved and sometimes not and on the way back we hit a pothole that made everyone jump up and then laugh nervously.
Three months gone and after this week I’ll be done with classes for a while, through my first trimester of graduate school and halfway through the teaching part of the degree. Time at once feels impossibly sluggish and unfathomably quick. The days pause and start again with no discernible pattern. I have three enormous assessments but they so far seem reluctant to be started. I eat too many noodle bowls and make a hair appointment. C wants to go ice skating. I just want to get to California. I’m dreaming of Disneyland and candy apples, of the sun and heat and palm tree streets, of American breakfasts and good avocados.
Oh and I bought myself a new camera. It’s Christmas, almost.
photographs taken at Scottish National Gallery in Edinburgh with a Canon t1i.
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