In happier news, I've joined the Oxford University Company of Archers. At my first practice, I completely tore up my left arm by repeatedly letting it get whacked by the bowstring. This happened because I was locking my elbow instead of using my back to pull back on the bow. This has resulted (it's been a week) in a technicolor dreamcoat of bruising. It's sort of liver colored now. BUT I am getting better, and only hit myself once last practice.
I'm sucking up my insecurities, and joined the Oxford University Drama Society, which is mostly a bulletin board for auditions and stuff. But I do think I'm trying out for Cymbeline this week, which it nerve-wracking and thrillling simultaneously.
I had my first secondary tutorial yesterday, and I love my tutor. She is this amazing, old-school British lady, and rather than having me read my essay aloud and interrupting when she has a comment (as my other tutor does) she reads it the night before the tute and we go over it together, mentioning parts that were relevant and good points. I knew I was really going to like her when we were discussing Life-Course Theory, and she said "The way I think about theories, I have to ask myself if they make sense, and then if they do, I know they're good theories." Good GOD! A psychologist who thinks about whether things make sense? I've died and gone to heaven.
To celebrate my success (she graded my first paper Beta + which is an A- in America), I bought an eclair at the great bakery that's around the corner from my tutor's office. Then I went home and ate it. Great day.
I just rearranged my furniture, so that I get sunlight (inasmuch as it exists here), and I'm satisfied, but now I need extension cords.
This weekend, Dara and I are planning a walkabout in Oxford, so many pretty pictures coming soon. But for now, enjoy this shot of my arm:
Oh, and a ton of shots of Worcester Cathedral are up next, which was really the only great thing about Worcester.
