The obvious is that this place is beautiful. There are rooms everywhere and stairs everywhere and all the doors have doorknobs way too high or way too low. The lift was broken until this afternoon, and I walk the 95 stairs up to my room a few times a day. There are gold and blue and pink and marble and cedar and columns and stone and exposed pipe and doors that lead to tiny brick passages that lead to old books and dusty notes from friends. Outside the grass is still green and goes on until it hits the low clouds lit up dimly by the few lights of Grantham. Grey stripes are all the rage.
Before classes started, I spent my time comparing my mental images of things to the things themselves. In reality the hill from the Carriage House to the Manor is not as steep, nor as treacherous. The Carriage House is on the other side. The refectory is smaller and the tables aren't round. The rooms I had about right, but I saw them in some detail. I'm unexpectedly mad that my friends' pipe signatures got painted over. I want to put them back. The little red knob on the showers to turn up the heat is smaller and brighter. The lights come on faster.
Since the first British Studies lecture Monday morning at 830, my life has been more full than ever. At the end of week one, I am doing okay. Hours and hours of homework a night, but my class schedule is conducive to studying. I spend a lot of time in the library, at the little back corner table, reading, or in my bed reading, or in the Schroeder Lounge. Always reading, Shakespeare or the penguin or British literature, but good, good stuff. I doubled my knowledge of British history the first day. It's hard, but it makes me want to work hard.
Things have happened. I raced the lift up to the fifth floor and beat it. Someone got in trouble on the first night, knocking on doors in town at 1230am. The food is terrible. Rebecca Bernard and I walked up the mile to the Greg for a drink, but it wasn't very good, so we drank water and juice and walked back through harsh headwinds and rain, umbrellas straight ahead, phalanxed. I'm making friends—Anne, Kelsey, Chelsey, Colin. I've met people, I've made plans.
Tomorrow I go to London, to explore the world and combat my fear of spending money ever. I have a tiny journal. I want to write it all down, everything I can, but it's so hard.
Most importantly I am loving it, but I am also loving you. I hope you will make a point to keep in touch, because it's hard for me to, but I am trying. Everything is just big and I'm enraptured.
and we'll take up, where we left off
when we all meet again
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