Spent the best part of the day looking for backup apartments in Chicago. Ended up wasting time touring several luxury high rises that are, shockingly, not outside our predetermined price range. The housing market in Chicago is blindingly cheap compared to Cambridge or D.C., so we really overshot our mark on the pricing. But it was determined that the Lutheran housing place was our best option and after that we settled down to rest.

My feet are hurty, and I clearly have given myself another case of sunburn. Need to carry sunscreen, I think. Burn too easily to go long without it, and it tends to come off with sweat. Also, bag clearly too heavy by far.

I just got sunburned a few weeks ago- how can I get another already? Where is my melanin?

Anyhoo, things seem like they are working well, roomie situation happily settled, and we can now begin to think about moving in. Yay moving in!

Common wisdom has it that if you want to receive a letter, you should write a letter. Take this under consideration as I write this: I do this for my own selfish entertainment.

For the past few days I've been in Chicago(land) searching for an apartment for when I move here and go to the University of Chicago. ( And how sad is it, that by the time I post this entry, the entry announcing my acceptance into that institution, from MARCH, will not have been pushed onto the Older Entries page? I have been neglecting you, my friends, and I feel it.)

I came with a list compiled by my future roomie and some appointments already, but there was a clear top candidate on the list, both in terms of price and location. Mostly, we both had our hopes pinned to that one, and were just checking on others to be safe and sure that it was worth it. Surprise, surprise- the apartment complex in question is lovely, incredibly close to the U of C, incredibly cheap, and the management is clearly not going to be out to bleed us dry- it's run through another local seminary, and they are generally not out to screw their renters over for fear of hurting the school's reputation in the denomination. And I get to have the justified feeling that I brought something to the process of apartment hunting after all, despite my Beanie-come-lately feeling, because it's the building that I found that we're going after, and it's only because I am a student at a local seminary that they are allowed to rent to me.

Of course, if something goes wrong, it's my ass in the fire, but I think that's probably ok. I hope nothing goes wrong, at least. Oh, well.

Anyhoo, having found and put money on the apartment means that I can now just sort of de-stress today and hang out.

more later...

EDIT FOR MORENESS.

I've just had a lovely dinner with Aunt and Uncle M and M, who have carefully ensconced me at the International House. Which I am now so deeply glad not to be living in, because living in a room *this* small after my last year at Swelles in my nice big sunny happy room would drive me round the bend. It's not unliveably small, but I would have to be utterly spartan and completely ruthless about my bookshelf's occupants in order to pull this off. All in all, glad that this did not pan out for me. At least I get my deposit back, too.

Chicago is *pretty*.

Apartment hunting begins in earnest with actually calling the people who are interested in selling the damned thing to you.


I am still working at my job from before the summer, and I am actually enjoying it a great deal. My boss is really wonderful.

I am in need of a project.

Not that I actually am in need of something to do- there are a whole slew of things I should be doing, (laundry, packing, dealing with housing, getting plans together to hang out with my friends over this last week before graduation), but I currently don't have homework and that is a Problem.

Because when I don't have homework, my hobbies start to take over the space that I left for them, and that is just.... that way lies madness.

Because, of any character trait I have that is not immediately apparent but defines a great deal of my inner life, it's the drive to be better at something than other people. And when the only thing filling up my life now is fanfiction and other random ways I pass my time, it means that I begin to notice: I am not a very good fan. I need to watch more TV or something, perhaps, but I am not well versed in canon. I can let whole weeks go by without noticing that I have missed the last three episodes of the show that I am currently geeking out about.

When I need to memorize Greek verbs, this is not so much a problem (not that I really spent that much time memorizing Greek verbs, because I find it kind of boring and much more interesting to find them in context in the text and make educated guesses). But now, all I have to do it hang out with my friends (who are on radically different sleep schedules than me, meaning they do not get up at dawn on their vacations.), it means that I being to notice: I did not see most of Buffy. And I don't really care about the Whedonless Buffy!movie coming out. And I didn't see WOLVERINE yet or STAR TREK. And I might just be a fraud on the geeky front, when it comes right down to it.

Which could become something I feel a burning pulsating need to remedy.

Crap.

In other news, I graduate officially on the 5th of June, and I have a slew of silly fun things to do with my buddies before then. So here's hoping.

I have taken the beast that was my Greek final and slain it with the sword!

Now, to kill the grendelesque fiend that is my last German paper. Huzzah!

I have become pathetic in terms of updating. Here's why:

May 1, 2009- Friday

Early morning: My mother discovers my maternal grandmother's body in her parlor. Grammie seems to have died the previous evening. Around her on the couch are a cold cup of tea, a trashy romance novel, her knitting, and her dog curled up beside her.

8.50: I am taking my last Ancient Greek test, for which I am underprepared. I get a call halfway thru from my father, but don't pick it up, and turn my phone off. I complete the test. (I got a C.)

9.45: Five minutes before my German class, my younger brother, who lives at home and helped my mother deal with the EMT's and coroner earlier that morning, calls me to tell me Grammie died. I go to class, bluster my way through discussions of my fellow students' presentations, and wonder if I am going to throw up. At the break of the three hour class, I call my mom and ask her if there is anything I should be doing. There isn't really, but she wants me to come home.

3pm: I blow off my last class of the day, and my brother drives me home. I think that I have ludicrously overpacked for a weekend at home, but Billy tells me that while we are holding calling hours/wake for Grammie in Massachusetts, her funeral will be in California with Grammie's other daughter and grandchildren, and the cousins that have lived in California since the dawn of time.

4pm: The hours is weird and still and uncomfortable, and I am mildly freaking out because my mom is so sad. People keep calling and I just want to take the phone off the hook. The three kids don't have much to do, and end up hanging out with each other for most of the time. We run various errands and figure out what's happening after the calling hours on Sunday. I find out I'm actually going to California. A friend of my mom (also a female priest) does a prayer out of the Book of Common Prayer that I have memorized to say for when I die. It's a nice prayer, and it gets better with repetition. This is the first of four times I hear it over the next week or so.

Saturday May 2

My dad takes my brother and sister out to buy something appropriate to wear. I don't want to go, and don't. Mom and I take Grammie's dog to the vet to get it looked at before it can fly to California to live with my aunt, who originally owned the dog. The wait is long, and the dog is freaked out, and I start to cry a bit because I hate it when dogs are sad and scared.

Sunday, May 3rd
The calling hours are really well attended by people from my mom's church (she works there)- a number of them knew Grammie personally from when she would go to church. We kids set up a little table at the funeral home with photos of Grammie at various stages of life, and her family, and her knitting projects. The tone is one of sadness and relief: there is a lot of chatting and hugging and people making sure that we're okay. I feel pretty well loved, actually. Wakes are nice. We read for the second time the prayer I like.

My mother has given my grandmother a spinning wheel pin and a little toy lamb made of wool and wood to be buried in. My grandmother is not wearing lipstick, which is noticeably uncharacteristic. The embalming process had made her tissue feel oddly firm and dry and cold, but her skin feels the same if you just lay your hand lightly on it. Her hair feels exactly the same. A friend of my mother's, who nursed her own mother through long ill-health in my childhood, tells my mother "Well done, my good and faithful servant." My mom cries and feels like she did well by her mom.

Monday, May 4th,

Damned early: We fly to California with a stop over. My siblings and I sit together on the first half of the flight and goof off, but there is a slightly uncomfortable tone. My mom and dad sit together. My mom looks deeply out of it- she's just following the leader and she keeps holding my dad's hand a lot.

California is dry and bright and unpleasant, like always.

Tuesday, May 5th
I'm going to skip talking about this, tho I may go into more later. The funeral was very good- sweet and sad and heartfelt. Arrangements go as they should- my mom gives a eulogy that is distracted and heartfelt and loving. My brother, my cousin Tom, and I all read something out of the bible: all the music and passages were chosen by my grandmother and my mom several months ago, and there is a nice feeling of completion knowing that we were doing things that Grammie wanted and liked.

Wednesday, may 6th

Getting back to MA with my brother and sister gives me a good working definition of a clusterfuck. My aunt allotted us only an hour's grace period at the airport, which I think is too little, but don't say anything. The driver is half an hour late, and we miss our flight. My sister cries a little from the stress, so I manage the process of getting us transfered to another flight and getting our bags checked. The new flights are not bad, and the new seats in the exit row on each flight give us much more footroom.

When we get back to MA, my parent's car has been towed from my sister's street, and her wonderful boyfriend goes to get it while we wait in her apartment after taking a cab from the airport. We discuss how awesome her boyfriend is.

Thursday, may 7th
I go to class in a haze, and actually feel lost and sad. I'm not sure if it's sleep deprivation, the incredible pollen that burst into bloom while I was away, or actual grief. I am unprepared for classes but my teachers are all nice about it. I only throw up before my Greek class, and stay away from coffee all day to feel better. I barely keep from crying in my Latin class; we are reading the part of the Aeneid where Aeneas meets his father Anchises in the afterlife. Anchises greets his son with "venisti tandem?" "Have you finally come?" This seems to me to be incredibly sad, but I really really like it.

Friday may 8th.
My last German class. I give a completely halfassed presentation which my professor kindly refrains from picking apart. I think he's impressed that I'm even presenting at all. This is the first of my last classes.

Saturday I allow myself to recover a little.

Sunday is Mother's day. I go to church with my family, where my mom is a bit frazzled and everyone is very kind to her. I give her a book on Gandhi and Churchill's rivalry, and she is very appreciative. I feel like a mildly competent daughter.

Monday May 11th
The last Latin class. No crying.

I get the feeling that my WATCHMEN viewing experience may have been somewhat diminished by the number of people who walked out of the theater.

That just makes me sad.

I got accepted to one of the world's finest institutions for the study of religion. I did not get a free ride to that school- I will have a lot of debt.

Okay, it's now possible for me to do what I want with my life, I just have to get it all together after all.

It is very nice to sit across a table from someone while you're doubting the possibility of your life's dream coming true, and having them say, "You're going to make it happen."

Also, I am already kind of beginning to appreciate the silly numbered grid that is the Chicago street map- I can already begin to see my way around the city, and I've not even been there yet.

The University of Chicago wants me instead.

I repeat, fuck Harvard.