Tuesday evening
Mar. 13th, 2003 02:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pameladeanEric and I usually have a date on Tuesday. Because of the apartment management's policy about keys, this week we had one on Wednesday as well, since he's leaving today to spend spring break in California. We had agreed that we wouldn't try to eat dinner together on Tuesday and that he'd call me after he'd had some food. He called around nine in extreme doubt that he wanted any company, and we had a rather fraught conversation that resulted in my offering to arrive over there around eleven. This gave me time to watch "Angel" with Raphael, and I thought would usefully minimize my crowding Eric. He was actually very glad to see me when I got there, and wouldn't have minded seeing me sooner.
I'm not sure I'll ever get that phone call sorted out. Attempting to become a graduate student is very hard on a person. (I did this myself, but in a very odd way. I so hated the notion of leaving Carleton that I did nothing at all about applications until the last minute and then cobbled up three. I was accepted by all three. The University of Michigan couldn't give me any financial aid; the University of New Mexico -- no, I don't remember why I wanted to go there -- couldn't give me enough aid. SUNY-Binghamton gave me lots of financial aid and boasted a professor of English who had once taught at Carleton, so I went there. I didn't like it at all, but the graduate English department was actually excellent and I did learn a lot before bailing with just my M.A. Anyway, I did the whole thing reluctantly and haphazardly and was lucky.)
Things were fine once I got there. Eric read his historiography essays and I read Liavek V, and we very happily shared some leftover shrimp lo mein from Saturday, which already seemed a decade ago.
There was something particularly soothing and settled about sharing the one pair of chopsticks and the one plate. We had some good conversation, and I remember getting very giggly, but I can't at the moment recall the jokes.
Pamela
I'm not sure I'll ever get that phone call sorted out. Attempting to become a graduate student is very hard on a person. (I did this myself, but in a very odd way. I so hated the notion of leaving Carleton that I did nothing at all about applications until the last minute and then cobbled up three. I was accepted by all three. The University of Michigan couldn't give me any financial aid; the University of New Mexico -- no, I don't remember why I wanted to go there -- couldn't give me enough aid. SUNY-Binghamton gave me lots of financial aid and boasted a professor of English who had once taught at Carleton, so I went there. I didn't like it at all, but the graduate English department was actually excellent and I did learn a lot before bailing with just my M.A. Anyway, I did the whole thing reluctantly and haphazardly and was lucky.)
Things were fine once I got there. Eric read his historiography essays and I read Liavek V, and we very happily shared some leftover shrimp lo mein from Saturday, which already seemed a decade ago.
There was something particularly soothing and settled about sharing the one pair of chopsticks and the one plate. We had some good conversation, and I remember getting very giggly, but I can't at the moment recall the jokes.
Pamela
