Apologies for the delays in posting. A new laptop has come into my life of late and I'll be posting long overdue Soccer Aid pictures as well as some shots from other random jaunts about town soon. Plus, my entire dissertation as a GoogleDoc! Are you excited? It's okay if you are.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
9.24.2008
9.10.2008
anti-climactic
Why is it that so many of the alleged Big Life Moments turn out to be so damned anti-climactic? I remember feeling that way after both my high school and college graduations, that I was expecting this indescribable feeling and a similarly indescribable moment, and that my diploma should feel like a brick of pure gold in my hand. And not shockingly, none of that happened.
So I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised that when I went to the School of Arts office today, expecting there to be some grand handing-in process for masters dissertations, I was instructed instead to turn it in to the coursework submission box just as I had every other piece of work I'd done all year long.
It felt a bit wrong, to be honest. I filled out the cover sheet and stapled it onto the front page, just like any other essay. I even date-stamped it, just as instructed on the first, last and middle pages. I couldn't help but feel like I was defacing it somehow. Then, I had to put it in the big metal box labelled 'Postgraduate Coursework.' Through a slot, into a dark hole, gone. Dropped in there with the dust and the grime, left to mingle with other pitiful three- and four-thousand word essays. I actually put my hand all the way through the slot when I dropped in the two bound copies, just to make sure they landed safely flat on the bottom of the container and didn't stand propped at the side, getting bent up and creased.
And I left it. And this time, even though it wasn't some indescribable feeling or event and no one handed me a brick of gold, I did feel different. But I think it was less the handing-in, being done sort of feeling (since I still have my improvisation essay to go, kicking my brain while it's down as we speak), and more the holy shit, I wrote that? feeling.
And that other feeling, the really-damn-proud one.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
P.S.: Pictures and post about Soccer Aid 2008, celebrity football match benefiting UNICEF that I won tickets to through work, coming soon! Also, I'll be posting my dissertation as a Google Doc, so you can have a look if you're interested.
So I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised that when I went to the School of Arts office today, expecting there to be some grand handing-in process for masters dissertations, I was instructed instead to turn it in to the coursework submission box just as I had every other piece of work I'd done all year long.
It felt a bit wrong, to be honest. I filled out the cover sheet and stapled it onto the front page, just like any other essay. I even date-stamped it, just as instructed on the first, last and middle pages. I couldn't help but feel like I was defacing it somehow. Then, I had to put it in the big metal box labelled 'Postgraduate Coursework.' Through a slot, into a dark hole, gone. Dropped in there with the dust and the grime, left to mingle with other pitiful three- and four-thousand word essays. I actually put my hand all the way through the slot when I dropped in the two bound copies, just to make sure they landed safely flat on the bottom of the container and didn't stand propped at the side, getting bent up and creased.
And I left it. And this time, even though it wasn't some indescribable feeling or event and no one handed me a brick of gold, I did feel different. But I think it was less the handing-in, being done sort of feeling (since I still have my improvisation essay to go, kicking my brain while it's down as we speak), and more the holy shit, I wrote that? feeling.
And that other feeling, the really-damn-proud one.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
P.S.: Pictures and post about Soccer Aid 2008, celebrity football match benefiting UNICEF that I won tickets to through work, coming soon! Also, I'll be posting my dissertation as a Google Doc, so you can have a look if you're interested.
9.04.2008
worth mentioning, indeed.
Happy one-year anniversary to me.
This day, last year, I landed on this side of the ocean to a blank slate and endless possibilities, promising myself to make the most of every last second.
I think I've made good on the promise.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
This day, last year, I landed on this side of the ocean to a blank slate and endless possibilities, promising myself to make the most of every last second.
I think I've made good on the promise.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
9.03.2008
the NHSizzle
Yesterday afternoon I got to experience the NHS up close and personal for the first time. For those who aren't familiar, the NHS (the National Health Service) is the socialized health network in the UK. So, unlucky for me, I'm sick. But luckily for me (and my fellow foreign leechers), medical care is free here for just about anyone and everyone.
I went into the A&E (accident and emergency = emergency room) at Hillingdon Hospital yesterday feeling nervous. I realize the ridiculousness of that statement. I'm a grown woman. Sort of. I've been to a million doctors' visits, I've spent time in the hospital, been sliced, diced and re-spliced. But I was nervous. First, because I felt rather stupid going to A&E, where someone could feasibly walk in at any time with a stab wound or an amputated limb, with a urinary tract infection.
Yeah, I said it. Post-reveal apologies for the TMI.
So I was feeling a bit silly as it was, and then it occurred to me that I didn't even know what to say to the woman at the desk. "Um, hi, I'm here for an emergency...UTI?" And when I did get to the desk to tell her what was wrong, she definitely looked at me with an expression that could only be translated to "Seriously?"
What happened next can only be described as completely unsanitary, and it was my first glaring piece of evidence of the afternoon that public healthcare isn't exactly the perfect answer to everything. I won't share it here, because trust me on this, it's better told in person.
I guess ultimately though, the wait wasn't horrible, I saw a doctor, he asked me some questions and gave me antibiotics. Well, he gave me a prescription, and the nice ladies at Boots gave me drugs. And actually, I'm feeling better already -- probably because the mental weight of having to go do all that is out of my mind and I know that full recovery is just a few days away.
It's odd. Before I lived here, I firmly believed that socialized health care would solve so many problems in America. But now that I have experienced it first hand and learned a lot more about it, I don't think it's the answer, either. Don't get me wrong -- I think we've got it all messed up in the states. But I'm sure there could be a middle ground somewhere. A middle ground where everyone could get care when they needed it without being in debt thousands of dollars, but where the system wouldn't hemorrhage money and would be able to maintain a decent standard of care, speed of attention and support for diagnostics.
I don't have all the answers. But for now, I do have antibiotics.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
I went into the A&E (accident and emergency = emergency room) at Hillingdon Hospital yesterday feeling nervous. I realize the ridiculousness of that statement. I'm a grown woman. Sort of. I've been to a million doctors' visits, I've spent time in the hospital, been sliced, diced and re-spliced. But I was nervous. First, because I felt rather stupid going to A&E, where someone could feasibly walk in at any time with a stab wound or an amputated limb, with a urinary tract infection.
Yeah, I said it. Post-reveal apologies for the TMI.
So I was feeling a bit silly as it was, and then it occurred to me that I didn't even know what to say to the woman at the desk. "Um, hi, I'm here for an emergency...UTI?" And when I did get to the desk to tell her what was wrong, she definitely looked at me with an expression that could only be translated to "Seriously?"
What happened next can only be described as completely unsanitary, and it was my first glaring piece of evidence of the afternoon that public healthcare isn't exactly the perfect answer to everything. I won't share it here, because trust me on this, it's better told in person.
I guess ultimately though, the wait wasn't horrible, I saw a doctor, he asked me some questions and gave me antibiotics. Well, he gave me a prescription, and the nice ladies at Boots gave me drugs. And actually, I'm feeling better already -- probably because the mental weight of having to go do all that is out of my mind and I know that full recovery is just a few days away.
It's odd. Before I lived here, I firmly believed that socialized health care would solve so many problems in America. But now that I have experienced it first hand and learned a lot more about it, I don't think it's the answer, either. Don't get me wrong -- I think we've got it all messed up in the states. But I'm sure there could be a middle ground somewhere. A middle ground where everyone could get care when they needed it without being in debt thousands of dollars, but where the system wouldn't hemorrhage money and would be able to maintain a decent standard of care, speed of attention and support for diagnostics.
I don't have all the answers. But for now, I do have antibiotics.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
9.01.2008
an unrelated side note
Section five (that would be the final one, for those keeping count at home) of the dissertation?
Done. Finito. Submitted.
Total word count: 16,900. All that's left between me and my master's degree is some edits and additions. And a piddly 2,500 word essay for my improv class. But I can't help but feel, in this moment, like the end is so very much in sight.
I was going to say, 'here's to the light at the end of the tunnel.' But it hasn't been a tunnel. It's been a valley, a mountain, a rocky path and at times a river whose current I could barely fight; but all the while, it's been an adventure.
So no tunnels here, I think. But like a daytime-talk-show-guest having an out-of-body experience, the light is near. And I am heading right for it.
Yes.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
Done. Finito. Submitted.
Total word count: 16,900. All that's left between me and my master's degree is some edits and additions. And a piddly 2,500 word essay for my improv class. But I can't help but feel, in this moment, like the end is so very much in sight.
I was going to say, 'here's to the light at the end of the tunnel.' But it hasn't been a tunnel. It's been a valley, a mountain, a rocky path and at times a river whose current I could barely fight; but all the while, it's been an adventure.
So no tunnels here, I think. But like a daytime-talk-show-guest having an out-of-body experience, the light is near. And I am heading right for it.
Yes.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
the island welcomes yet another in an endless parade of my yank friends
Last week, as many readers will know, my friend Harry came to London for the first time. Harry and I and our friend Simon, who lives in Reading -- about 30 miles west of London -- spent the long bank holiday weekend together, and had an unforgettable time.
Simon and I made sure that Harry saw all the really important stuff (Big Ben, St. Paul's, Trafalgar Square, etc.) and did all the really important things (have afternoon tea, eat a full English breakfast, drink cider) that one needs to do while in London, but mostly the highlight of his visit was just the time the three of us spent together, bumming around London, staying up late in Harry's hotel room talking and shooting the breeze and generally enjoying each other's company.
It was an exhausting week, mostly because I'm just not used to operating on such a schedule, as I said after my brother's visit in May -- though we certainly didn't drink enough this time around to even compare to that monumental five-day stint! Instead of boring you with more words that won't do it justice, I'm going to post some of Harry's photography from the trip with some captions that will give you a little idea of the good times that were had.
Requisite picture in a classic English phone booth!
We went to Harrod's on Tuesday, where we were all beyond shocked that we weren't forcibly removed after we started having fun with fossils.
We also had a little fun in the Harrod's book store.
But before that, we did have afternoon tea! Pinkies out!
And the picture that really captures the spirit of the week...
It was a fantastic time with even better company, reminding me once again that, despite being in one of the most beautiful and engaging cities in the world, it really isn't where you are the counts -- it's who you're with.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
Simon and I made sure that Harry saw all the really important stuff (Big Ben, St. Paul's, Trafalgar Square, etc.) and did all the really important things (have afternoon tea, eat a full English breakfast, drink cider) that one needs to do while in London, but mostly the highlight of his visit was just the time the three of us spent together, bumming around London, staying up late in Harry's hotel room talking and shooting the breeze and generally enjoying each other's company.
It was an exhausting week, mostly because I'm just not used to operating on such a schedule, as I said after my brother's visit in May -- though we certainly didn't drink enough this time around to even compare to that monumental five-day stint! Instead of boring you with more words that won't do it justice, I'm going to post some of Harry's photography from the trip with some captions that will give you a little idea of the good times that were had.
On Harry's first day in the city, hitting the big four -- Parliament Square, Trafalgar Square, Leicester Square and (here) Piccadilly Circus.
On Sunday, we ventured to Speakers' Corner in Hyde Park for some serious entertainment. This crazy was the highlight of the day, and we managed to piss her off real good before we left.
On Sunday, we ventured to Speakers' Corner in Hyde Park for some serious entertainment. This crazy was the highlight of the day, and we managed to piss her off real good before we left.
Requisite picture in a classic English phone booth!
We went to Harrod's on Tuesday, where we were all beyond shocked that we weren't forcibly removed after we started having fun with fossils.
We also had a little fun in the Harrod's book store.
But before that, we did have afternoon tea! Pinkies out!
And the picture that really captures the spirit of the week...It was a fantastic time with even better company, reminding me once again that, despite being in one of the most beautiful and engaging cities in the world, it really isn't where you are the counts -- it's who you're with.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
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