Guys, I can’t help it, my entries are getting prosier and prosier like some nostalgic disease. There’s this song by this random Icelandic band called Seabear that my dad showed me on NPR when I was 14 that had one lyric that sang “I miss you even when you’re around,” which I’ve since firmly agreed with, and this agreement is manifesting itself in my crazy (ha, yeah right) life in ways I can’t even begin to explain (I can acknowledge its symptoms, though, like horrible run-ons). I’m in Scotland, but I miss it, him, her, us!, and it’s tugging at my little, unwilling heartstrings. I’m sitting in the fourth floor of the library (actually the fifth, but Scotland counts the first floor as the “ground” floor, and everyone seems pretty adamant about it) and I’m watching the sunset on my right. You don’t know this, by it’s 2:57pm as I write, and like I said, the sun is setting, which is ridiculous. However, this boasts certain benefits, such as perpetually pink clouds and glowing orange horizons literally every day. I like to think myself a little bit of a sunset hunter (but who isn’t, really?) so I am rolling in the beauty of it all. That said, I woke up at noon the other day, and only saw about two hours of real sunlight before the whole “daytime” ordeal went downhill.
I got distracted from an essay yesterday and dedicated an unhealthy chunk of time to reading about Mt. Everest, and in that period (we can refer to it as “The Lost Hours,”) I learned that scrambling a mountain is a cross between hill walking and rock climbing. This description painted some image in my mind of a lone mountaineer stumbling up a mountain, trying to walk normally, but falling, and desperately climbing on all fours, trying to regain some semblance of balance. I feel like I’m figuratively scrambling now, wandering around the city aimlessly, taking pictures of things I’ve seen a hundred times, counting the things left to do (ice skating in the Christmas rink, afternoon tea, another movie at the Scottish film house, another Céilidh (a traditional Scottish dance,) heading up North to see the Northern Lights, and although it’s out of my control, to experience some Edinburgh snow). I feel like every day this list grows longer at the same rate my time dwindles (only a little over three weeks left) and I feel like winds of depression and gusts of love are colliding in some panic tornado.
Some items are being checked off the list, however. I watched a Scottish opera and experienced Thanksgiving abroad (which was surprisingly fun, since I usually hate Thanksgiving.) I saw a play and I tried to find a modern art museum (and got lost, which was a perfectly welcome alternative, given that tornado I mentioned earlier). I returned to Arthur’s Seat (which I’ve abandoned in the cold) and I finally visited the local dress shop which I pass (and gawk at) every day on my way to class. I leave for Spain on Friday, so my next post will be full of that new-country wonder instead of these wistful weepings…so hopefully stay tuned for a little less lamenting.
P.S. I feel like this blog doesn’t meet some anecdotal blogging standard. Johnny Huynh, ’14 and Mathematical Economics major, and I made a dessert we dubbed “BrownieBix” for Tom’s Thanksgiving dinner. It was a combination of this iconic Scottish wheat-thing (Weetabix) and brownies made with hot cocoa powder. Despite being disgusting at first, we miraculously threw in a pinch of this and a pinch of that (“this” and “that” being sugar and more sugar) and we created beautiful little balls of Scottish chocolate-y-ness. They were wonderful. Other people said they agreed, but I told them to lie if they didn’t like them, so I’ll never know for sure!