“Better late than never!”, I always say… But the motto which I apply to this blog has started to fail me in my use of it on the rest of my life.
The fact is, I’ve had to resort to it more than I’m comfortable with recently. I’ve gone and taken too much on again, just like last year when I put on 5 plays in three months and subsequently had a complete and utter meltdown. No surprise there. For a self-described lazy person who likes nothing more than eating Nutella on toast in bed while watching New Girl, I have an uncanny knack on stressing myself out beyond health and sanity.
So here’s the rundown…
- I tutor a 12-year old boy in German once a week,
- I work one shift in my college bar every week,
- I take photos for a student newspaper every Wednesday,
- I am the Domestic and Accommodations Officer in College,
- I am on a long-term photography contract for my College which takes time out of my week each week,
- I am on the committee for the Turl Streets Arts Festival and its behemoth of a Closing Party,
- I am a research assistant on a ten-hour-a-week historical linguistics project (so exciting!).
Oh yeah, and then there’s that essay-a-week (plus busy work like translations) degree I do on the side. I’m also writing an article about Norway for a student travel magazine, and am the lead tenant in my leaking, creaking, rotting, crumbling rented student-house which means I spend a good hour each week on the phone with maintenance men and my landlord.
So why is the photo for this week a crappy camera-phone snapshot of a train station? Because last weekend I packed up my netbook and a couple of books about expressionism, and hopped on the twenty-minute train home. I met up with my Mum for a much-needed catch-up, I hung out at home with my awesome brother and dad, I read a lot about the expressionists and ended up having a little cry about their failed dreams (overreact, much?) before being bundled into bed by my mother.
A break is exactly what I needed, and the essay I wrote ended up being one which I am immensely proud of. I remembered that weekend the reason that I’m here: my degree. I think you’ll struggle to find someone who has made such an about turn on their degree choice as I have: from reluctantly dragging myself here to study German, when I really wanted to learn about Ibsen and Strindberg (still do, always will), to now being in love with German literature as much as Scandinavian. And, when I get a few hours to devote to it, I am happy and at peace.
I know the peace is there, then, I just have to make time for it.
I hope you find your peace.