Don't Walk on the Grass: Oxford

This past week has been exhausting. Time seems to roll up and torpedo. I've just come back from a weekend in Oxford for a conference. Sounds Romantic, doesn't it? Spring birds, old colleges, academics discussing papers, tea and coffee breaks. Those were the highlights. Everything else was rough. As a first-year PhD just approaching my 9-month review, I know nothing. I enter a room full of academics, and its like, one of those parties where everyone knows everyone else and you just sort of know one of the people there? Usually, you'd drag your housemate along so you don't show up alone. That's what it's like except no tag-along friend in the face of lauded academics, who really are much smarter than you. Its enough to make even the staunchest of nerves tremble. Then, it's constantly putting your foot forward, introducing yourself, initiating, "oh I loved your paper"--none of which seem to be my strength when my confidence has been zapped and my knees knocking. Each day I felt like a mangey dog no one had the mercy to go out and shoot.

One thing that did make me laugh was some of the things people wore. One man, one of the most brilliant people in the room, wore a magenta shirt, a yellow and blue stripped tie, and a green tweed jacket.

I also spent the weekend with the lovely Harvey family, whose steps seem to coincide with mine, ever since our stint in Singapore, and with Cassidy, UNC IV friend. We even got to watch the UNC -Kansas game, which was depressing, but at least I felt like I was home again, listening to the familiar squeak of shoes on the wood floor.

But you know that bit in A Room of One's Own, where they tell Virginia to not walk on the grass? It's true at some colleges. But not at this conference. We were graciously allowed to luncheon on the lawn with our legs tucked up under our skirts, nibbling at prepared sandwiches.