a final post from self expressed
As much as I've enjoyed posting on self expressed, it is time to start afresh as I embark on something entirely new. Thank you, dear readers, for journeying with me through university and for putting up with my often non-sensical babble. This is my last post from self expressed, which will remain on the internet until I have the heart to close it down for the last time.
Fortunately -- or unfortunately, your choice -- you won't be able to get rid of me quite so quickly. Like
Isolde, a new experience equals a new blog, one that steps away from my days as a student, to exploring the latest developments as I begin my career in Bermuda. Although my new blog has been in development for a couple of months, it is still very much being worked on as I have been extremely busy with my dissertation as well as moving back to Toronto.
Please join me at
horizons, and do update your links as well as my new online alibi.
Thanks for your continued support, and I hope to see you at my new home on the web.
a free woman
Monday 11 September
Location: London
Time stamp: Early morning
Temperature: 21C, sunny, light breeze
Distance walked: Tolerable
Perspiration level: Negligible
Hunger level: Not applicable
Tube from South Kensington to Victoria: check.
Cash for long day ahead withdrawn: check.
London-Oxford bus ticket purchased: check.
On bus at 10.58: check.
Location: Oxford
Time stamp: Midday to early evening
Temperature: 30C, sunny, no breeze
Distance walked: Endless
Perspiration level: Buckets
Hunger level: Agonising
Three copies of dissertation printed: check.
Computer account at Department of Statistics terminated: check.
Outstanding photocopying fees paid at Department: check.
Three copies of dissertation bound, Oxford-style: check.
Remaining post at college pigeonhole picked up: check.
Library books at college returned: check.
Computer account at college terminated: check.
Graduation ceremony reply and booking forms submitted: check.
Three copies of bound dissertation picked up from print shop: check.
Late lunch (finally -- stomach about to consume itself): check.
University-regulation envelopes for submission purchased: check.
Master of Science graduation gown and hood rented/purchased: check.
Dissertation submitted to the Examination Schools at 15.44: CHECK!
Location: London
Time stamp: Early evening and onwards
Temperature: 18C, clear skies, light breeze
Distance walked: Manageable
Perspiration level: Not applicable
Hunger level: Tolerable
Groceries for dinner purchased: check.
Handbag and folders emptied: check.
Dinner made: check.
Collapse on sofa: check.
florence
The thing about having completed a dissertation whose subject matter dealt with insured losses resulting from hurricanes, is that it turns the author into a hurricane-crazed geek who suddenly finds tropical storm warnings, nautical miles, and Saffir-Simpson scales the most fascinating things ever. I feel like a plane-watcher. Or worse -- a trainspotter complete with dorky anorak, thick-rimmed glasses, and notepad. But at the very least, I can proudly claim to be a geeky hurricane-watcher with a gorgeous Burberry trenchcoat -- note not anorak. So there.
Hurricane Florence is due to hit Bermuda at 11.00 AST today. The thought of it is making me queasy, although I admit to refreshing the National Hurricane Center's forecast and public advisory webpages every few hours with some degree of anticipation. I have been terrified that the somewhat inevitable power outages will mean that I won't know whether my boyfriend is safe. I have also been harbouring absurd fantasies about storm surges swallowing all of Bermuda whole. Additionally I have been rather concerned about my soon-to-be office, which happens to sit on the harbour, and is likely to flood in such events. In other words -- my already-overactive imagination has been running rampant. This is not helped much by the images of locals boarding up windows with plywood, and people wavering in the wind on a blustery coastline (grab a palm tree, people!) that my boyfriend has been sending to me -- since viewing them I have been getting increasingly nervous. I've been trying to reassure myself that Florence is not a Katrina, or Rita, or Wilma, or any other cutely-named bitch of a storm. But -- as my 77-page dissertation tells me -- hurricanes are never predictable. Forecasters have been warning that Florence is getting bigger. Erm, thanks.
All of this is set to happen on a day when absolutely everything could go wrong. I am submitting my dissertation today, which sounds easier than it actually is. It will be an all-day event in Oxford, and that's only if there is enough toner in the printer cartridge to accommodate the printing of over 300 pages of material (I am required to submit more than one copy). Thinking about everything I have to do in Oxford with regards to finishing any unfinished business exhausts me so I won't get into it here. And it is September 11th. Which means that -- call me paranoid -- as much as I want to avoid society in general, I have no choice. There. I said it.
Let's hope that the tomorrow passes quickly and quietly. I can't wait to be done with all of this so that I can actually enjoy my last week in London, as well as try to secure a flat in Bermuda. But that, my friends, is another story for another day...
Am I the only one who sometimes feels like they simply dread facing the rest of their life? Maybe I think too hard but I feel as though I won't be able to cope with certain things that are inevitably going to be thrown at me in the future. These things are, invariably, intertwined and it is impossible separating one from the other: family and relationships. I am in such an awful state right now that I feel like surrendering. What surprises me is how I usually never let go of things without a fight -- I feel like there is no fight left in me. All that is left is an overriding feeling of wanting to move away, far away from the confines of familial politicking and developing relationships.
In Isolde's words, I feel selfish and defeatist. I couldn't have described it better myself.
hello again
Well, this is it -- I am finally approaching the last days of my life as a student, albeit with equal parts dread and excitement. I can't wait to start working. And yet I know that once I do, I'll admittedly want to retreat into the cushioned nine-month continuum that is the academic year. No more three-month summer holidays. [Sniff] No more month-long winter breaks. [Sniff] Welcome to a life of up-at-seven, five days a week (possibly more? Save me), too many days a year. Sniff.
My dissertation has gone pretty much exactly as I had hoped, and I am pleased. I am especially thrilled with my gorgeous title page, which was supposed to take only about three minutes to look that way, had my department actually sent us a template that
worked. I had to code it myself -- and I know what you're thinking: you're thinking, 'How difficult can making a title page be? You go to Oxford, for God's sake' -- but when you're dealing with a typesetting program as (apologies) anal as LaTeX -- this ain't WYSIWYG Microsoft Word, folks --
nothing is easy. The coding took over an hour. An hour! But it does look lovely, if I may say so myself, complete with Oxford logo, and typographically perfect spacing.
Enough banging on about the title page. Content-wise, I'm satisfied, although the word count was so stingy that I would have gone on researching if I felt like I could actually condense everything into 12,000 measly words. (I couldn't.) It seemed a shame to have to omit intriguing results for the sake of a word count, so I didn't. My dissertation, at its final draft -- not final copy -- stands at approximately 18,000 words and 96 pages. I can't wait to submit it. The research (to me) was exciting, but I fear that not everyone will find insured loss modelling all that thrilling. You can't please everybody, I guess.
On a completely unrelated topic...
I realised that the reason why I couldn't understand why anyone would want to have children was because I actually don't know that much about being a mother -- not that it matters at a ripe old age of 23, of course. But it intrigues me, and I am a willing and able student. I bought a book -- so it's not Dr Spock, but who cares -- that will hopefully address some of my fears and answer some of my questions. I like to be prepared, even if it means being prepared five-odd years in advance.
The DVD player in my flat is brilliant. I rented Legally Blonde and its sequel last week, which were thoroughly enjoyable -- and yet totally preposterous -- films. But it made me realise that I have a bit* of Elle Woods in me, which is somewhat frightening.
I have given up on houseplants, as I seem to murder each and every one of them. Therefore I have resorted to more solar-powered plastic plants from Japan -- which, I might add, are truly adorable. Oh yes. We live in a technological world. Plants ought to be part of that world.
The autumn/winter collections seem to be a compendium of the worst trends we've had in the past half century: ridiculously tapered-leg denim, shapeless tunics, patent (patent?!), patent shoes, patent ankle boots, patent ankle boots
worn with knee-length dresses, six-inch patent platforms, cocoon-shaped coats, parkas (eeew), and gold chains. I have been searching unsuccessfully for a pair of simple cherry red mid-height court shoes. This ought to be easy, especially in one of the fashion capitals of the world. But this is perhaps precisely the problem: everything, being trendy as hell, is platformed. Or ankle-booted. Or
patent. How dreadful.
My actuarial exam last month -- yes, I realise that this is turning out to be the most random collection of thoughts, but forgive me please, as I've been fairly reclusive for the past month until now -- went well and I shall remain cautiously optimistic. I apparently learnt all of Stochastic Methods in Finance (a final-year undergraduate course at university) in two hours flat, on the night before the examination. And it was actually incredibly interesting, although quite a chore at the time.
That's enough for now -- it is time to have dinner. I will be back soon -- very soon, if all goes as planned with the dissertation...
*Actually, that might be a bit of an understatement.
andrea in london
Here I am. Finally.
I know that I have a lot to explain, and I know that endless excuses won't make up for my absence. But enough preamble; here are the bits you’ve been waiting for:
I moved. Oh yes, I did.Long story short: during my last week in Oxford before travelling to Paris, I wasn't able to sleep till 4 am each night due to loud noises in the ceiling above my bed. This just about spelt disaster for everything else I was up against for the remainder of the summer – by the fourth night, I felt like I had gone insane (ask my boyfriend: he’d probably agree). A few maintenance people, phone calls, drilling, evaluations, and harassments later, it was established that the noises were a result of woodworms chewing away in the attic directly above my room, which would then require extensive fumigation to eliminate – and I wouldn’t even be allowed to live in my room whilst this work was being done. By this time I had had enough of Oxford anyway. Got in touch with last year's landlady, who had a baby flat in Chelsea that she kept aside for me. My mum had come back to the UK with me following our trip to Paris (although not for that reason, but it worked out perfectly), and good thing she did: six bus rides to and from London, seven heavy suitcases, bucketloads of sweat, and some very late nights later, I was finally settled in.
I will never have to live in that house in Oxford again!I
love my flat. Sure, the foyer of the building resembles a seedy hotel at best, but once I'm in the comfort of my room, I love knowing that this space is all mine till September. It is beautiful, with a funky vibe, and a little balcony with tealights, bamboo trees, a water fountain, and a mini bench. But what I love most is the circularity of it all: these are my last couple of months in the UK for a few years, and this is where it all began. I started out in London, was never fond of Oxford, and am back in London again. I am much happier as a consequence.
A different bit of London to serve as a distraction.Chelsea is posh - perhaps a bit too posh at times, but hey. Where else can I dress up to go grocery shopping? Where else would it be unacceptable to step into a restaurant with hair not perfectly coiffed? This is where all of London's best cars are parked, and this is where women's (enviable) wardrobes all seem to scream
money! All of the latest it-bags you will see being carried here in a mere, unbelievable one-kilometre stretch: YSL. Balenciaga. Gucci. Marc Jacobs. Chanel. Hermes. Astounding – if not the least bit excessive.
Paris in the summertime.It was as beautiful as I’d remembered it, reminding me of what an impossible dream I have of being able to live there someday– minus the French people, that is. My parents and I ate well, rested (after a week of not being able to sleep till 4 am each night, the only thing I wanted to do was sleep. Not even shop. That’s a first), went to Giverny and Versailles, and did a month’s worth of walking in four days. But I can’t wait to go back. Charles de Gaulle is as otherworldly as I remembered it – and as chaotic and disorganised as you’d expect any European airport to be. C’est la vie.
Dublin. In six hours.This is old news, but I don’t think I wrote about it yet: after a sleepless night at Gatwick airport, you’re put on a company flight to a city you’ve never been to before, driven six endless miles into the downtown core in a company car, and dumped in the middle of the city having no idea where you actually are. Sound like fun? Not entirely. It gets better: one near-trampling in the park by a horde of hungry Dubliners, one video conference interview, seven (
seven!!) interviewers, 142 questions being fired at you from every direction, and six hours later, I was driven back to the airport, and put on the flight, where I proceeded to sleep like a baby. I don’t even remember how I made it back into my room that night, I was so breathless and knackered. The upshots: in the following next 24 hours, my boyfriend had arrived in the UK, we had flown to Spain, and I had gotten the job. I still think that seven interviewers is a bit much; for a tiny company of only 20-odd people, they might as well have sent the entire company to conduct the interview.
I’m working/trying/sort of.I’ve got a lot on my plate, and being distracted by what London has to offer isn’t helping at all. My dissertation is due in less than two months and I’ve been beavering away at it very slowly – although I feel like I need a crash course in how to use Microsoft Excel again. I couldn’t even add a bloody row together – so shockingly inept. Never mind. I blame it on the heat – it does things to the mind. I can add rows now, and more importantly, I have actually managed to clean up my 8000-row database so that it can be used for extensive analysis. Hurrah!
Living in a fashion capital means that you attempt to dress like one – from a different fashion capital, of course.My style has changed since returning from Paris. It has become, well, a lot more French. (I still wholeheartedly maintain that French women are the best dressed out of all European ladies, and my visit to Paris this time cemented the fact again.) To obtain French clothes in England is impossible, but the next best thing is English clothes that resemble French clothes. Fair enough. I’ve bought so many fabulous pieces in the summer sales (all of them amazing bargains, and rather French) which I am thrilled about – perfect for work, perfect for island living, perfect for romantic dates (Daniel: hint).
Island life.Speaking of which, it still hasn’t hit me yet that I’ll actually be
living and working in Bermuda by the end of the calendar year – truly scary, contingent on my work permit being approved of course (and let’s hope that it is). I’ve just settled back into London – to contemplate having to deal with a completely new living style is unfathomable at the moment. But enough of things I can’t control at the moment – Daniel is visiting next week! Much to look forward to – and a new stomping ground in London to explore.
So that concludes things for now –
Signing off,
Andrea in London
in london again
I know I've been elusive, but I'm still around - in London, that is. I relocated/moved here from Oxford last week rather unexpectedly, and have just finished setting up my little flat in Chelsea. More later.
