It is a truth universally acknowledged that a university student planning on living outside of a cardboard box is in want of a house. Unfortunately for me and my friends house hunting is akin to the Hunger Games - except with more blood. We began this week all bright eyed and rosy cheeked to go see a house on Queen's Terrace. It was lovely, stone, with huge windows to beautiful views, and big wide bedrooms and sitting room and swirly staircases. We loved it, and ran from the viewing to the agency only to find a girl sitting in front of Jude (the agent guy - his real name is Derek I just call him Jude) claiming the house we had just seen. It was really soul ripping and with heavy hearts we proceeded to the nearest cafe to buy ourselves pity tea and then purge in the only toy shop in Saint Andrews. That actually worked to lift my mood. We have since then hit the ground running in searching for a house but have yet to find anything below the price of a small country. This town is ridiculously expensive and filled with rich people (or rich parented people) who feel no need to question it. Oh well. I've limited my pub outings to once a week (except when Paul is buying) and all outings have to be free. I went to the castle again the other day with my gown so as to enter for free and just read on one of the benches, wrapped up in my big red gown for warmth.
I've been experimenting more on my runs as well. Today I left around four, just before the sun thinks about setting, and headed off in a random direction. I turned into Lady Brae's Walk (I pronounce it Lady Bra Walk but I'm fairly positive of the inaccuracy of my assessment) and took a winding path that led me to a deserted park. The path dipped down to follow a river in a thin forest before ascending back up into housing. Quite sure I was lost but in no real hurry, I jogged along the road of houses before unexpectedly being deposited in the center of town. I took up along South Street and swung around to the cathedral where I followed the graveyard to the harbor where I sat on the edge of the long stone pier at high tide - occasionally getting misted by the angry salty ocean and singing at the top of my lungs. I then continued along the ocean as the sunset painted the sky a pink and baby blue, the clouds a careless painters dash on the canvas. When I got back my roommate was still at lecture, so I showered, put on my softest sweater, and curled up with my next English novel on my windowsill and watched the last traces of the sun disappear, listening to the North and South song.
This semester looks as though the classes will be good. I'm taking Medieval History, Art History, and English. I'm really starting to get into medieval. As long as they stay far away from Arthurian times I'll be just fine. I like the puzzle of history. I like the storytelling. Art history is proving better than the first semester as well, considering that it isn't a repetitious religious maze (My memorization last year consisted of trying to discern which artist matched up with the dozens of Adoration of the Magi's, Presentation of Christ at Temples, Madonna and Child's and endless, endless altar pieces. Now that we're getting out of the Renaissance I might be able to pay more attention in lectures. English is also good (of course). I needed a class this semester that would just allow me to read things fictional.
We began with Oroonoko - which is about a Slave Prince who falls in love, is captured after his ladylove is sold, finds his lady, gets whipped, kills his lady so that she is kept pure and away from his enemies, and then is dismembered. CHARMING. The best part is actually right after he murders his lover and they find him cause they smelled the dead body and were like "Dude. Why did you kill her man?" and he was like "DON EVEN MESS WITH ME RIGHT MEOW" and he proceeds to cut off a chunk of his own throat and throws it at them. Then cuts open his belly and throws his guts at them. They knock him out, then stitch him up, so that they can cut off his body bit by bit. For his credit, the whole time he's just smoking his goddamn pipe. Genitals? Smokin the pipe. Legs? Pipe. Arm? Uses other hand for pipe. Other hand? Pipe. Then finally his torso is cut into fours. Just... so cheery. Naturally I had to supplement this reading with my Scottish romance novel (The Outlander).
Well that's me. Sorry if this sounds a bit ramble-y and journal entry-y. I haven't written in my journal for ages so this will count as one. I miss you all terribly. I know we say that all the time but I mean it. I am also craving the sun (never thought I would but I do). I like the smell of my new soap.
I wear the headband that Hailey made me almost everyday. I watch the kissing scene of North and South daily and I remember Elaina and Fiona and me squealing in agonized joy over the barely touching hero and heroine at one in the morning. I reread your letters before I go to sleep. I want to giggle ridiculously over the kilt-clad men here with Hailey, sit on my bed and just talk. I love talking with you. You always say the right thing and know when to listen and when to laugh. I want to listen to music and read by the river on Lady Brae's Walk with Elaina with poetry books that we actually manage to read this time. I love hearing you read poetry. You have perfect timing and voice and I think the poet would appreciate someone who knows what they were trying to say and how they wanted to say it. I want to wake up early and go to that coffee shop on North Street with Fiona, get coffee and walk to the beach and walk along the West Sands -- all 2 miles of it -- and talk some of the way, and just be silent for the rest. I love how I can do that with you - how silences are okay and comfortable and full of small smiles and deep, lung filling breaths.
But more than all of that I want us to be together - like we belong. Like we haven't been in too long. We're all so different that when we are together we balance each other out and fit. I want to show you all Scotland. Or at least Scotland as I see it. I want us all to go to Ceilidhs and exchange ecstatic glances as we twirl around with men in kilts, tilting our heads back and laughing - faces beat red and completely out of breath from bouncing and spinning and clapping to the fiddle and song. I want us all to go to the castle, and then the cathedral and try to find the oldest gravestone, creating stories for the long dead people that have already turned to dust underneath us. I want us all to walk on the beach, and look for starfish in the tide pools. I want us to hold hands and jump off the pier into the ocean, shrieking and freezing our asses off. I just want you guys to be here. I want to share Scotland with you. I've fallen in love with it. Us all being here would be like the Traveling Pants sisterhood when they all go try to find the pants in Greece -- they were the pantless sisterhood then I guess, too huh?
With all of my heart
Sophia
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