Scotland

A Scamp and the Holidays

Posted on by erranteditor

Thanksgiving is fast approaching. This is the first time I have ever had to be in class on my favorite holiday, and it will be the first time that I am not celebrating with my family. I have been invited to have an “American Thanksgiving” with some of the people who live in a dorm near the education building, and as tempting as the idea of real food is, I will only know maybe two or three people who are going. I’m not sure I really want to spend the evening with a bunch of strangers when all I really want to do is spend it with my family. The girls in my program, whom I would have loved to spend the day with, are doing Thanksgiving on Friday, and I had already made plans, so unfortunately I will miss that. I know that will be a lot of fun though as many of those girls have never celebrated Thanksgiving before.  I may spend the evening making outlines for my papers and pushing through on the work that has to get done before I go home. By Thursday the countdown will be down to 6 days, so I can just delay my celebration and see everyone when I get back.

I am minorly stressed about the upcoming holidays though. Having no job, and a loan payment to make every month, makes my prospects for Christmas and Hanukkah presents seem slim. I know that no one expects me to bring presents and all that, but I still feel bad that I won’t really be contributing to the holidays. I know that my momma will float me the cash until I am back on my feet, but I feel guilty about leaning her to take care of me. I’m 25, I should be taking care of myself by now.

All in all though, I am a looking forward to going home and having a bit of a break from the dorm. We got our official notice of charges today for the damage that was done to the place. We will get another bill next month, and probably one after that. The RAs, the warden, everyone knows who did it. They even have Facebook pictures to prove it. When they confronted the guy in the pictures, he gave up the people involved, and even offered to split the cost of the damage with the people who destroyed the place, but when the rest of the merry men were confronted, they denied all involvement, and because they need the culprits to confess their crimes before they can charge them, there now 5 charges on my account. Lucky me.

Maybe if I play that awful Thanksgiving song on repeat on their floor all night I will feel better about the charges…..

A Scamp and the Harvest

Posted on by erranteditor

I had planned to have a quiet night in on Halloween. I was going to stay in, eat ice cream and watch Hocus Pocus. Instead, I ended up in the middle of St. Giles Square celebrating Samhain. According to Wikipedia (my favorite site in the world) “it is a Gaelic festival marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter or the “darker half” of the year. Most commonly it is held on 31 October–1 November, or halfway between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice. Along withImbolc, Beltane and Lughnasadh it makes up the four Gaelic seasonal festivals. It was observed in Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man. Kindred festivals were held at the same time of year in other Celtic lands; for example the Brythonic Calan Gaeaf (in Wales), Kalan Gwav (in Cornwall) and Kalan Goañv (in Brittany).” The festival involved a lot of half naked people painted in various colors parading down the Royal Mile dancing and chanting. They are also carrying fire. There was lots of fire. I mostly stayed for the fire. The scenes were acted out on a small stage in the corner of the square, and thanks to the hundreds of people standing between me and the stage, I couldn’t really tell what was going on. I also didn’t really know a whole lot about the meaning of the holiday, so I watched a lot of interpretive dance and waited for something else to be lit on fire.

All I can say for certain though, ceremony or not, Fall is here.  The weather has been steadily getting colder for weeks, and most of the leaves have changed to a nice yellow color and are falling off the trees in droves. Leaves litter the streets, the sidewalks, and get stuck to my boots as I trudge to school every morning. The courtyard of the church near the Education buildings is completely covered in leaves. If Scotland wasn’t such a wet place, I could easily imagine diving into the leaves and getting lost underneath them.

All the leaves and the changing of the seasons make me think of a story I read as a child. When I was a young girl my grandma was killed in a car accident. It was sudden, and it caught all of us off guard. To help us get through the death, a teacher that worked with my mother suggested that she read us the story of Freddy the Leaf. The story goes like this:

The Fall of Freddie the Leaf:
A Story of Life for All Ages,
by Leo Buscalgia

Spring had passed. So had Summer. Freddie, the leaf, had grown large. His mid section was wide and strong, and his five extensions were firm and pointed. He had first appeared in Spring as a small sprout on a rather large branch near the top of a tall tree.

Freddie was surrounded by hundreds of other leaves just like himself, or so it seemed. Soon he discovered that no two leaves were alike, even though they were on the same tree. Alfred was the leaf next to him. Ben was the leaf on his right side, and Clare was the lovely leaf overhead. They had all grown up together. They had learned to dance in the Spring breezes, bask lazily in the Summer sun and wash off in the cooling rains.

But it was Daniel who was Freddie’s best friend. He was the largest leaf on the limb and seemed to have been there before anyone else. It appeared to Freddie that Daniel was also the wisest among them. It was Daniel who told them that they were part of a tree. It was Daniel who explained that they were growing in a public park. It was Daniel who told them that the tree had strong roots which were hidden in the ground below. He explained about the birds who came to sit on their branch and sing morning songs. He explained about the sun, the moon, the stars, and the seasons.

Freddie loved being a leaf. He loved his branch, his light leafy friends, his place high in the sky, the wind that jostled him about, the sun rays that warmed him, the moon that covered him with soft, white shadows. Summer had been especially nice. The long hot days felt good and the warm nights were peaceful and dreamy. There were many people in the park that Summer. They often came and sat under Freddie’s tree. Daniel told him that giving shade was part of his purpose.

“What’s a purpose?” Freddie had asked.

“A reason for being,” Daniel had answered. “To make things more pleasant for others is a reason for being. To make shade for old people who come to escape the heat of their homes is a reason for being. To provide a cool place for children to come and play. To fan with our leaves the picnickers who come to eat on checkered tablecloths. These are all the reasons for being.”

Freddie especially liked the old people. They sat so quietly on the cool grass and hardly ever moved. They talked in whispers of times past. The children were fun, too, even though they sometimes tore holes in the bark of the tree or carved their names into it. Still, it was fun to watch them move so fast and to laugh so much.

But Freddie’s Summer soon passed. It vanished on an October night. He had never felt it so cold. All the leaves shivered with the cold. They were coated with a thin layer of white which quickly melted and left them dew drenched and sparkling in the morning sun. Again, it was Daniel who explained that they had experienced their first frost, the sign that it was Fall and that Winter would come soon.

Almost at once, the whole tree, in fact, the whole park was transformed into a blaze of color. There was hardly a green leaf left. Alfred had turned a deep yellow. Ben had become a bright orange. Clare had become a blazing red, Daniel a deep purple and Freddie was red and gold and blue. How beautiful they all looked. Freddie and his friends had made their tree a rainbow.

“Why did we turn different colors,” Freddie asked, “when we are on the same tree?”

“Each of us is different. We have had different experiences. We have faced the sun differently. We have cast shade differently. Why should we not have different colors?” Daniel said matter-of-factly. Daniel told Freddie that this wonderful season was called Fall.

One day a very strange thing happened. The same breezes that, in the past, had made them dance began to push and pull at their stems, almost as if they were angry. This caused some of the leaves to be torn from their branches and swept up in the wind, tossed about and dropped softly to the ground. All the leaves became frightened.

“What’s happening?” they asked each other in whispers.

“It’s what happens in Fall,” Daniel told them. “It’s the time for leaves to change their home. Some people call it to die.”

“Will we all die?” Freddie asked.

“Yes,” Daniel answered. “Everything dies. No matter how big or small, how weak or strong. We first do our job. We experience the sun and the moon, the wind and the rain. We learn to dance and to laugh. Then we die.”

“I won’t die!” said Freddie with determination. “Will you, Daniel?”

“Yes,” answered Daniel, “when it’s my time.”

“When is that?” asked Freddie.

“No one knows for sure,” Daniel responded.

Freddie noticed that the other leaves continued to fall. He thought, “It must be their time.” He saw that some of the leaves lashed back at the wind before they fell, others simply let go and dropped quietly. Soon the tree was almost bare.

“I’m afraid to die,” Freddie told Daniel. “I don’t know what’s down there.”

“We all fear what we don’t know, Freddie. It’s natural,” Daniel reassured him. “Yet, you were not afraid when Summer became Fall. They were natural changes. Why should you be afraid of the season of death?”

“Does the tree die, too?” Freddie asked.

“Someday. But there is something stronger than the tree. It is Life. That lasts forever and we are all a part of Life.”

“Where will we go when we die?”

“No one knows for sure. That’s the great mystery!”

“Will we return in the Spring?”

“We may not, but Life will.”

“Then what has been the reason for all of this?” Freddie continued to question. “Why were we here at all if we only have to fall and die?”

Daniel answered in his matter-of-fact way, “It’s been about the sun and the moon. It’s been about happy times together. It’s been about the shade and the old people and the children. It’s been about colors in Fall. It’s been about seasons. Isn’t that enough?”

“That afternoon, in the golden light of dusk, Daniel let go. He fell effortlessly. He seemed to smile peacefully as he fell. “Goodbye for now, Freddie,” he said.

Then, Freddie was all alone, the only leaf on his branch. The first snow fell the following morning. It was soft, white, and gentle; but it was bitter cold. There was hardly any sun that day, and the day was very short. Freddie found himself losing his color, becoming brittle. It was constantly cold and the snow weighed heavily upon him.

At dawn the wind came that took Freddie from his branch. It didn’t hurt at all. He felt himself float quietly, gently and softly downward. As he fell, he saw the whole tree for the first time. How strong and firm it was! He was sure that it would live for a long time and he knew that he had been part of its life and made him proud.

Freddie landed on a clump of snow. It somehow felt soft and even warm. In this new position he was more comfortable than he had ever been. He closed his eyes and fell asleep. He did not know that Spring would follow Winter and that the snow would melt into water. He did not know that what appeared to be his useless dried self would join with the water and serve to make the tree stronger. Most of all, he did not know that there, asleep in the tree and the ground, were already plans for new leaves in the Spring.

I remember the first time I heard the story. I was in the waiting area of a BJ’s Pizza. I cried.  Almost 17 years later I still cry whenever I read the story. Whenever I see leaves fall from a tree, I think of Freddie the Leaf. I know that the changing of the seasons is a good thing, and that with every death there is new life, but that does not mean that I  miss the ones who have passed any less. This week was a rough one for me. Some concerns were raised about my visa and for a few days I thought my trip home was in jeopardy. I needed a laugh, and I needed cheering up. When I was a kid, no one could make me laugh more than my grandma. I don’t know how she did it, but she always did. Funny voices, jokes, ridiculous pictures, she did it all. I could have used her humor this week. If she was alive she would have listened to me cry about my impending doom, and then she would have helped me plan a covert smuggling op that would allow me to sneak out of the UK and then back in for the start of the next term. She would have talked me through bribing boarder agents and how to sweet talk my way back into the country.

All of this is not to say that my mommy, David, and Lindsey did not do their best to get me to stop freaking out until I had all the information, but what I realize that I needed now was to be able to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. My mommy always tells me everything will work out in the end, and it turns out, she was right.

How about that?

 

A Scamp and Hair

Posted on by erranteditor

As a kid, I was the twin with the long hair and Kelly was the twin with the short hair. I’m not sure why that was, but that’s how it was. Every now and then we would switch it up and she would grow hers out and I would cute mine, but we seem to always go back to what we know best. My senior year of my undergrad I when I first got sick, I cut off 11 inches in a moment of panic. The drugs I was taking made all my hair fall out and I had myself convinced I was going bald (trust me on this one, that is not a good look for me) and in an effort not to notice how much hair was falling out, I went with a short do. It did me well for awhile, but I was very happy when it grew back. When I moved to Scotland I decided that I was not going to cut my hair until I moved home, whenever that may be. Everything seemed to be going along swimmingly, until last week when I noticed an alarming trend.

Every morning I wake up to a new clump of my hair on my pillow. Everywhere I sit, everything I wear, everything I touch is covered in my hair. I feel bad for the cleaners when they come in to vacuum my room because I can only image the hair they have to clean out of it at the end of the day. There is hair stuck in my pants, stuck on all my jackets and all over my bed. I get fresh sheets every week, but lately, that doesn’t seem to make much of a difference. Everything is still covered in hair.

David used to joke that he could always tell how recently I had been in his bed by the amount of hair that he would find. He used to joke about it, but it always worried me a bit. Hair loss is a side effect of all the drugs, but it is also a symptom of Lupus. When my hair is not falling out, and I am having a good pain day, I can almost pretend that I am not a defect. I know that part of it is stress, and part of it is normal, but I am still not enjoying the winter shed I appear to be going through.

Today I am stuck in my room with a bad cold. I know that is contributing to my feelings about my hair. I’m feeling icky and gloomy and have a touch of cabin fever, and I know that is why I suddenly see all the hair, or suddenly worry about how I will make it in such a cold place if I go bald. I am hoping that lots of drugs and some good sleep will make things seem a little brighter in the morning.

 

A Scamp and the Mumps

Posted on by erranteditor

Don’t worry, I do not have the mumps (at least not yet….) but my neighbor has them. The poor boy passed out in the hallway the other day, and if it wasn’t for the wonderful ladies who have to clean our dorm, who knows how long the poor kid would have been there? He’s a nice guy, I don’t know him that well, but he seems shy and quiet, and not that social, so I got worried when Liz (the wonderful woman who cleans my side of the dorms) told me he had gotten ill. Luckily there was no real cause for worry about his well-being. My R.A. Esther and my partner’s in crime Jade and Cecile checked in on him every few hours, made sure that he got meals, and sweet talked a GP into an appointment so that he could get a proper diagnosis and make sure that there wasn’t something seriously wrong with him. The head of accommodations for our hall has checked on him, and the 4th floor students who don’t suck at life (meaning the ones who are not undergrads) have been asking about him and offering to help get him to and from the doctor or bring him meals. I know how bad it is to be homesick, and I really know how bad it can be when you are too sick to function and how badly you just want your mommy to come take care of you and tell you everything will be okay. His mom isn’t here, but he has the next best thing, he has Mama Jade, fearlessly leading the charge to make sure this kid is taken care of.

I’m envious of her. She didn’t think twice about helping him, and she shut down people who questioned why she would put herself at risk for someone who can clearly take care of himself (shit, I’m 25 years old, but the minute I get even the slightest fever or on days when the pain in my hands and feet are really bad I turn into a 5 year old and just want my mom). She even used her handy mini fridge to make him an ice pack because she knew that the cold would make him feel better. She did all of this without the slightest thought to her own health. I stopped in to see him a couple of times, and told him that he could come knock on my door if he needed anything, but truth is, I am scared that he is still contagious.  I do not want to get sick. I’ve had my shots, but if I get sick now there is no way that I will be able to go home for Christmas, and I desperately want to see my family. I feel completely selfish. This poor kid is all alone, passing out in hallways, and feeling like crap, and the only thing that I can think about is my own crappy immune system and how I desperately want to go home for Christmas. His needs far outweigh mine right now, so I open this up to everyone: What sort of comforts do you like when you are sick? What can I do to make him feel better? Part of this is to assuage my own guilt for not being as fearless as Jade, and part of this is to help him since he will most likely be feeling like crap for the better part of a month. I don’t know how to help boys feel comforted, so all my three or so male readers, can you help me out with this one?

Don’t say porn. I know where the sex shop is here, but I am not going to buy porn and risk someone seeing me with it. I am a lady after all.

A Scamp in the Wrong

Posted on by erranteditor

There are few things I hate more than when I am wrong. I pride myself on never being wrong (or being able to talk people in circles until I can convince them I am right).Those lofty delusions of grandeur sometimes come back to bite me.

Today is one of those days.

A year ago I was going through a very rough patch and not coping well. I had been dumped in a cruel way, I hated my job, and I was spending more time alone than with other people. I was getting horrible panic attacks and generally just being plain miserable to everyone. To help me cope, the doctor suggested I take a low dose of an anti-depressant. For the better part of the year, I have generally had good days, and I have not had one panic attack. Because of this, I assumed that it would be okay to stop taking the pills. I take 9 other prescribed pills on a daily basis, and I figured one less in my day wouldn’t be a bad thing. I told David about this, and he told me that I shouldn’t stop taking them because I am better on them than off them. That hurt my feelings. A lot. I hate that I am dependent on the pain pills and the sleeping pills and immune boosting pills to survive my daily life, that I hated the idea that my anti-anxiety pills were no different. I always thought that one day I would be able to stop taking them and life would go back to normal (or at least I would be able to be in a crowded room or not have to sit on an aisle or near a door without feeling like the room is caving in on me). I ended the convo with David very quickly, and went to class still convinced that I know best and there is no reason for me to go back to the doctor to fill the prescription.

As most of my bad ideas, this one came back to bite me in the butt. For the better part of two weeks (about the same amount of time I have been off the pills) I have had strange headaches, and feeling a bit off. Today I had dinner with a large group of people, and I was sandwiched in an odd part of the tables that we had pushed together. I barely made it through dinner when I felt the all too familiar signs of a panic attack creeping on. I don’t know if it was the hot stuffy room, the way I felt trapped between people and tables, or the fact that I am ridiculously tired, but all I do know was five more minutes in there and I would have totally embarrassed myself.

And here is where I admit that I was wrong. Tomorrow I am going to drag my sorry little butt over to the health clinic and have my meds re-filled. I will talk to the doc about maybe working my way off of them one day. Today, it would seem, is not that day.

A Useful Scamp

Posted on by erranteditor

Today is the first day in a long time that I felt useful. I have been in Scotland for over a month now, and while I am loving my time here (minus the undergrads), I have not really felt like I have contributed anything to the space that I am inhabiting. This morning I woke up early to chat with the love of my life, and schleped myself to the education building for my 9 am class and spent all day cooped up inside. I was feeling grumbley and sour walking home until I was stopped by a woman outside the office building by the dorms. She was in a panic because she couldn’t find her wallet. She wanted to know if I had seen anything on my walk up the hill and she was fretting about how she was going to get home.  Scotland is a city of public transportation. If people don’t walk, they take the bus. The bus only takes a bus pass or exact change. She kept apologizing to me for holding me up, but I know how I would feel in the situation, so I didn’t feel the least bit bad about trying to help her.

Those who know me really well know that I do not carry cash. I just carry my ATM card. The thing about money here, is that until I put cash in my Scotland account, it is really expensive for me to use my American card everywhere. Last week I pulled out some cash to have on hand for things like a quick snack or lunch, and as it happened I had enough money for a one-way on the bus, so I offered it to her. She apologized several times for stopping me and asking, and told me that was not the reason that she stopped me, but I told her I hopped it would be enough and not to think twice about it. She looked like someone’s mom. She also looked like the type of woman that would always have juice boxes and snacks on hand for play dates and she probably walks her kids to school every morning before catching the bus to work. Before she ran to catch the bus, she promised that she that when she got everything sorted she would drop money into the charity box of my choice to repay the kindness. At first I told her she could pick, but then I told her to drop it into something education related.

I know it seems silly that £2 could make me feel useful, but knowing that the woman was able to make it home made me feel better. I’m sure cancelling all of her cards and getting new sets of everything will be a pain in the ass, so I am hoping that not having to spend hours trying to figure out how to get home made it a little less stressful. I also hope that someone would do the same for my mommy if she were in the same situation.

Maybe I should spend less time cooped up in class or in the library with my nose in a book, or maybe I should spend some more time volunteering or being more useful, but for now,  I will just feel good knowing that I finished the walk home in a better mood than when I started.

A Scamp and Her Priorities

Posted on by erranteditor

I’ve only been here for three weeks and I am already a felon. There is a rule at Pollock Halls that states you are not allowed to take food from the caf. No one pays attention to the rule. Croissants, rolls, cheese, meats, all of that gets wrapped into napkins and stuffed into bags and backpacks. I do it all the time, but yesterday I got caught. Food Nazi came over and asked for my meal card and told me she was going to report me to my warden (yes warden, like I live in a prison…cell block Lee House.) I swear (and I know that this will be hard for some people after the great CVS incident of 2010) but I did not do anything to provoke the woman, other than try to take food out of the caf. She asked me if I had read the signs that say “Don’t take the food at of the cafeteria” but those signs are next to the “love food, hate waste” signs, and those seemed way more important to me. I took the food, I wasn’t going to eat it at that moment, and did not want it to go to waste. I was totally going to eat it for lunch (I did, and it was delicious.) The strange thing is that I am not even that upset about the strike on my record. Even if they eventually kick me out of accommodations, at least I will be homeless in Scotland.

I have also come to the point in my career that I have to decide what they next year will hold. I have been talking to one of the brightest people I have met here, and she is in the working stages of her PhD. It is fun to hear her try and puzzle out how she is going to tackle her research and all of the things she wants to do and places that she wants to visit to aid her in thought process. She likes to chat out her ideas to work through them, and as someone who does the same, I enjoy listening to her and feeling that I am bit helpful in the process. I know she will do great things, and that is what I want, I want to do something worthwhile.

I’ve come to the point where I have to decide if I am going to stay here to complete my research, or if I am going to come home and finish it in Fullerton. While Fullerton is the smarter choice since my work is locally focused, and I will have a better shot of being able to pay for Fullerton, I really would like to stay here. I like the idea that I can spend a couple of years here and have the chance to live, teach, and study here. Problem is, it is expensive, I am currently without a job, and they don’t give a whole lot of scholarships and financial aid here.

The worry here is that if I choose to do this, then I am putting my relationship in jeopardy. He tells me that he is going to wait and that we will spend the rest of our lives together, but I can’t help but wonder if he is going to change his mind. I heard this song and dance before and it crashed and burned when we were faced with distance. I know how wrong it is to compare the two, but it’s what I do best. The plan had always been to stay here and make my life here, but when I made that plan I was flying solo. Now I’m in a herd (a flock? A gaggle? a dynamic duo) and have to make choices with his feelings in mind. He of course, has no feelings in the matter, but I am assuming that he would prefer that I come home. Lately we have been arguing a lot. Mostly it is me with my feelings hurt, and him feeling helpless, but this week I came to the startling realization that the two of us are not on the same page about the future, and a lot of that is due to me not wanting to make him jump ship again. This week marks what would have been our first anniversary, and not only did we spend it apart, but it doesn’t actually count since we broke up shortly after getting together. I’d like to think it still counts, but I am in the boat alone on that one.

I’m alone in a lot of boats, most importantly the boat that keeps me here. The question is: Do I want to stay in this boat or jump ship?

A Scamp and Enemies

Posted on by erranteditor

It is only week three and I have managed to make some enemies. I didn’t set out to make them, but it happened. I was really just after a good night’s sleep. My medical condition makes me tired enough on its own, but adding no sleep into that mix and I float somewhere between a zombie and a piece of the furniture. It started last week with a tutor (the equivalent to a TA) called me an idiot because I asked for some clarification on an article that I could not make heads or tails of. This evil wench told me that she was not there to answer questions (as my bestie pointed out, she is German and that is very common for them to just be flat out rude and insulting to students) and that I should not be expected to be spoon fed answers. She copied the director of the program on the email, and all I had really asked was if we could discuss the readings before class got started so that I would have something to contribute to the discussion. The whole group feels this way, but I was the one who was nominated to email Claudia the Horrible, so I am the one who feels insulted. I wanted to huff and puff and tell the bitch this wasn’t my first graduate degree and that if she is being paid $100 an hour to be in the classroom, I better leave her room feeling like I would have learned more from a monkey speaking Greek. The only thing that this did was make her academic enemy number one and she is about to get eight weeks of me in bitch mode. Claudia the Horrible is an enemy I am making on my own decision. She doesn’t have to be an enemy, but I have decided that I will not tolerate the way she treated me. The other set of enemies that I made were not by choice.

I happen to live with the most rude people I have ever encountered. They run and shout in the hallways at 3 am, they mess up the toilets and break into mailboxes, and generally walk around like they own the place. The other day I kindly (or as kind as I can be at 3 am after three hours of listening to them talk about who they had had sex with so far this term) asked them to just go into one of the rooms that they were standing in front of because the rest of us were trying to sleep. They laughed at me like I was absurd, but I assume eventually went to one of the rooms. After the mandatory house meeting where I suggested that rules, curfews and timetables needed to be reviewed, they now do everything they can to be disruptive. They slam doors, hangout outside my room and chat loudly about prissy postgrads having fun studying while they get smashed, and generally make sure that nothing productive is happening between the hours of 6pm and 7am. I was not trying to point out that these fucktards were raised by wolves, I merely just wanted to be able to sleep at 3am. I was 18 and dumb once. I’m sure that I was loud on occasion. I know that I never disrupted anyone’s studies though, and if someone told me to shut up, I shut up. I guess it is a difference between American college kids and English college kids. All I know is that I am starting to feel like I did that first year in San Diego. I hated that year, and it is not one that I wish to repeat.

To deal with these children though, I have decided to get on their level. Anytime they breath too loudly on the floor after 10pm mandatory quiet hours, I am calling security and having them written up. Three strikes and they are out, and some of them are already on strike two. I’m guessing that I can get them out before the term ends. The cleaning ladies have also given Jade an alarm clock and permission to get the vacuum out for 6am hoovering, so I think I may take them up on that and start setting the alarm clock for 5 am every morning (seeing as they usually stumble to bed around four, they will not enjoy it.) I am also open to all manner of suggestions, and I am not the least bit concerned that by posting this online I am showing premeditation for mischief. My revenge may not be swift, but it will most definitely be sweet. They picked the wrong scamp to mess with.

A Scamp Rant

Posted on by erranteditor

I knew that when I signed up to live in on-campus housing that it wasn’t going to be all sunshine and roses. I knew that I would have to share a bathroom with 6 or 7 others, knew that I wasn’t going to be able to bring all the shoes that I wanted, and knew that I would be making a 20 minute trek from my dorm to my classes. I even knew that there was a chance that I wouldn’t like the dorm food (for the record, the dorm food is awful. Crunchy rice, wilted salad and more grease than I know what to do with). All of that didn’t seem to bad since I would be facing all of that in Scotland, and all of it would just add to the adventure. What I was not prepared for was living with 18 year olds again.

I signed up to live in what I thought was postgrad housing. Turns out, what I signed up for was a postgrad floor in an undergrad dorm. I’m not that old, but I feel way too old to be living with these little shitheels. I’m sure that I was no princess when I was their age, but I’d like to think I was better than they are. They run through halls screaming at 3 am, rip off name tags and destroy other people’s stuff and think it is perfectly acceptable to bring beer to a house meeting on responsible drinking. It is always a mystery on whether or not I am going to get a good night’s sleep, and everyone knows how I feel about my sleep. The lack of sleep is hard on my body, and I had made so much progress this summer with the Lupus, that I am going to kill a fresher if I relapse. Look for me on a future episode of Locked Up Abroad.

As I tried to shower tonight, the idiots that live below me had moved all the belongings out of a boy’s room and into the toilet, keeping me from being able to shower without having to go to another block on my floor. Shlepping my stuff around when all I want is a hot shower has made me cranky.

My cranky feelings are starting to rub off on the way I treat others lately as well. I have been grouchy with my friends, and being horrible to David. The boy keeps telling me how much he misses me, how he can’t wait for us to get married and have tiny humans and have a fun life together, and meanwhile I get grouchy over how expensive it is to send me peanut butter. I’m hoping now that it is the second week of classes and things have now officially begun that people will get busy and have less time to make me crazy.

While this is not the most productive or fun post I’ve done, it was a much needed vent before bed.

A Scamp on a Hike

Posted on by erranteditor

or, A Scamp in the Rain

Today seemed like a good day for a hike. I wore a dress for the first time, was able to find a place to study in the library, and even found a job that I am qualified for and would make me enough money to live off of while I am here. All that good karma had me feeling good about myself, so when the girls asked if I wanted to go for a hike up Arthur’s Seat, I jumped  at the chance. The view from the top is supposedly amazing, and I thought it would be a great way to spend my last day before classes start.

The walk from the dorm to the base of the mountain is about three minutes, and it was windy, but only slightly overcast. The hike up the mountain is rocky steps and steep turns. It is medium to hard in some places, and if you are not ready for it, it can be quite difficult. About halfway through the hike it started to rain. Not just a light sprinkle, but a full rain. A proper Scottish rain. I got wet real quick, and suddenly my sweatshirt, leggings and trainers were not enough to keep me warm. The wind was blowing the rain sideways, so there was not much I could do to keep myself from getting drenched. Despite the wet and the cold, I enjoyed the climb. A year ago I would not have been able to make the trek. I didn’t weigh enough to support myself through the climb, and thanks to the Lupus, I probably would have died about a third of the way up. I am proud to say that had the weather not crapped out, I would have made it to the top of the mountain.

On my way up the mountain I was able to do a lot of thinking. I thought about the last hike I had been on. It was sometime in April. I was with a guy that I attempted to date the previous summer. He can be an asshole, and he tended to treat me like crap more often than not, but he was one of the easiest people to talk to, and he was also great for a deep and meaningful conversation. I thought a lot about that hike because their were two things that were very very wrong with it: 1. I was trying my damnedest to get back together with David. He wasn’t having it, but I had no business hanging out with a guy who only really wanted in my pants when I was fighting tooth and nail for a second chance with a boy who didn’t want a whole lot to do with me. I was using the boy to make myself feel better because I was not making any strides with David, and that wasn’t fair to anyone involved. 2. Dude knew how to get under my skin. He told me on this hike that my feelings of irrelevancy that I was starting to feel as my moved to Scotland became more real were completely justified. He told me that the world was going to go on without me, and that I made it almost impossible for being to want to love and connect to me so I would be gone and forgotten in no time.

Now, before you all start feeling sorry for me and thinking that I let his words have any effect on me, don’t worry, they didn’t. Everyone who I really care about has reached out to me at some point or another, and a few people that I know through school, but not quite on a personal level have reached out to me and offered me tips, hints, and a friendly ear with my woes of living abroad. I talk to my best friends everyday, and everyone keeps sending me fun cards and care packages. Granted, I have only been gone for about two weeks, but I feel loved and that is all I care about.

Tomorrow is my first day of school. It is strange to think these days were behind me, but I am excited to wear my new dress and awesome shoes and take on the world of academia yet again.