I feel a bit as if I'm on the eve of my execution just now, for in 22 minutes I must depart for the far reaches of Scarborough, invigilate that pesky exam and then mark all 82 of them over 60 hours in the course of the next five business days. FIVE! Argh. So the party of post-thesis is effectively over in 22 minutes, at least for a while.
But, if I'm truly to be executed, then the Becky Eats even on Saturday night was a suitable last meal, delicious and convivial and about 5 hours long, as all the best meals are. Mmm, creme brulee (I don't know how to accent on this computer [or any computer]--sorry).
Yesterday's attempt to be free and frolicsome didn't exactly pan out, but I did manage my first ever post-surgery run. I concerned that the impact of feet on sidewalk would excessively jolt my healing jaw, but with my new ugly-but-well-cushioned sneakers (white with *shiny* blue patches on the sides--something a London gang-banger's girlfriend would wear in 1987, I think, but so comfortable) all was serene. And I felt happily healthy, although I spent the rest of the largely inert, reading and (pretending) writing.
Ten more minutes. There is scarcely anyone in the library. Why is no one freaking out except me?
For a year we caught his tears in a jar
RR
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1 comment:
I like it here, can I stay?
1st post-surgery run -- me too, tomorrow.
Is the tear-catching some kind of capitalist venture?
ROSS!
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