Dreams

I've been having strange dreams lately about coming home and coming back to Beloit: either people don't recognize me in my dreams or I don't recognize them.  Usually my dreams are enigmatic glimpses into my subconscience that I end up picking over for days afterwards, but in this case, the reason behind them seems a bit too obvious.  I think my brain is mocking me.

I do not feel irrecognizable, however.  Maybe I'm a little smarter, a little cooler than I was four months ago, but not a completely changed person.  Yet for some reason, it feels like I'm going through some kind of premature culture shock.  I'm not really sure how Scotland is going to fit in with the rest of my life.  Sometimes when I wake up from my dreams about home, I think Scotland is a dream, and vice versa.  I'm afraid I'll come home unsure of where I was or what it meant and it will all seem like a four-month long coma.

I suppose I'll find out what it all meant soon enough.  I have exactly a week here, which is pretty unbelievable.  Amelia Buzzell put it well in her letter to me: "This has been the shortest and longest semester of my life."  When I think about saying goodbye to my parents in front of the security line in September, holding back tears and telling myself to be brave, it seems like eons ago.  The leaves were still green, the days were still long.  But I guess that's what happens when  you think about time in terms of seasons instead of moments.  Green leaves and long days seem worlds away from the brown and gray outside my window now.

Tomorrow I leave for Paris, and when I come back on Wednesday, I will have about two days in Glasgow to say goodbye.  Sarah and I made a list of things we want to do before we leave, but I doubt we'll get around to it all.  Today I was walking down Great Western Road, past all the restaurants I meant to go to, and I felt pretty blue.  I looked up at the rooftops because I remember the first day I was here when my cab driver from the airport told me that "people in this city forget to look up," and that the city is a whole lot prettier when you look at the skyline or the rooftops.  This little trick has helped me get through a lot of sadness in the past four months.  Every time I want to say "I hate it here," for some reason I always end up looking at someone's roof.

Anyway, most of you are probably home by now, basking in post-exam relief and indulging in your mom's best cooking.  I hope to see at least some of you when I get back to D.C., but until then, hold down the fort.  I'll be there soon!

P.S. I found out what the deal is with Cheerios in the UK (prepare yourself, this may blow your mind): What the British call "Cheerios" in the UK, is actually what we call "Multi-Grain Cheerios" in the states.  "Cheerio Oats" most resembles the Cheerios we're used to, only with four more grams of sugar, as I came to learn this week.  I guess that's what you get when Nestle monopolizes the cereal industry.