No more essays!

For a month, anyway. And then it’s nose back to grindstone, and continuing to freak the housemates out with my long sustained spells of diligence.

But it’s good that term is ending now. I’m so tired, and I haven’t been able to breathe.

I spent an hour or so cycling on my new-old pushbike, and it felt so nice to not think about how best to fit my life in around my work for once. I didn’t think about which chapters I had to finish by tonight, I didn’t think about what I needed to catch up on for my class on Friday, I didn’t think about all the up-coming essays and reports I had to do in the next few weeks. I was occupied by other thoughts, like what to make for dinner and where I ought to be cycling to in order to purchase ingredients (I decided on spiced rice, roasted large flat mushrooms with mash stuffing, and salad, by the way).

And of course now that I’m back, the books loom large on my shelf and the emails start trickling in. Reading schedules have to be worked out for this week and over the holidays, essay deadlines have to be entered into the calendar, feedback noted and filed away.

This last week of term is an academic blackhole. It’s a vacuum where the lectures take place but no one’s really paying attention anymore, and no one really cares what takes place because they’ve all got plans to fly off to foreign lands sometime in the coming week, and questions pop into my head about whether I ought to read now for the first class next term or should I just leave it for now.

But most important question in my head of all: How did I get roped into cooking Christmas dinner for M’s family? This is serious English-ness we’re talking about. And me! Chinese girl from way out there cooking Christmas dinner for 6 to 10 others? Oh dear. It’s going to be interesting times, I can tell.