With all the inevitable running around, and nesting, and settling in, I’d almost forgotten why I’m here in the first place.  I’m here to write.  I’m here to further my education.  I’m here to become the Master.   …I mean, become a Master of Letters.

As I stare out my living room window, at the rain and the green grass of the courtyard-like garden and the bike shed, I’m struck by how surreal this journey is.  In the abstract, before I left home to study in Scotland, the UK seemed so far away.  Almost like a different planet.  (No thanks to Doctor Who, I think.)  Getting back here seemed a hopeless dream.  But now that I’m here, trying to settle my mind back to my studies, everything seems so completely normal.  I still have to buy groceries, and get to class on time, and clean my study area, and make my bed.  It doesn’t help, either, that Scotland looks so like Oregon.  Or maybe it does help, because then I don’t feel so homesick.  It doesn’t feel like I’ve left home at all, if I forget the arduous plane trip across the pond.

It’s Week 2 of an eleven week semester, but I feel as though I’ve been here forever.  Because I only have two courses a week, with one seminar a course, I feel as though I’ve got too much time on my hands.  I remember being so busy with all my classes in my undergraduate studies; I feel as though I’m missing something important by not having every day jammed with places to be.

All this to say, of course, that I’m having a brilliant time so far.  I’m fair tempted to stay in Scotland and go for my PhD.  One step at a time, I suppose.