The Unexpected Move

Three and a half weeks ago, the flat that I’ve lived in for nearly two years had a water incident. During a rainstorm, water came pouring out of the bedroom light fixture, shorting the electricity and soaking my bed. Water came in through the kitchen ceiling dripping onto the floor. And water damage went creeping out along the ceiling of the living room. My letting agents were nearly useless, took four days to send a professional electrician, and still haven’t examined the kitchen appliances as the electrician recommended. Yesterday, I discovered that my landlord had been trying to contact me directly about the incident days after it happened, but the property manager went on leave and didn’t forward me his contact details until she returned -- yesterday.

I decided to move.

 

I found a flat and signed a lease in less time than it took my letting agents to send an electrician. I got the keys about two and a half weeks ago. The flat is truly beautiful. It’s bigger than my old flat, in a similar location, and smells clean and freshly remodeled. But the first night I stayed here, I cried. I called my mom in the midst of one of my most severe panic attacks ever, gasping for air and telling her I’d made so many mistakes and instead of finding a flat I should have just come home. She’s a real trooper and got me through. I don’t think I’ve been that bad panic-wise since 2014. Then, I rallied. My friend Charlotte came one day and helped me move over all of my books. My friends Andy and Kate came over with their car and helped move a couple of loads of stuff (properly masked, of course). I am so, so grateful to them.

 

Mostly, though, I walked back and forth from one flat to the other with as much as I could carry. I probably made twelve or fourteen trips back and forth alone. I remember thinking, “How did I get to the point in my life where I’m doing a big move mostly completely alone?” It was exhausting. And a bit demoralizing. But I did it.

 

I also ordered and put together three IKEA bookcases all on my own. I ordered a rug for the living room and a pretty coffee table that makes me smile every time I look at it. I dealt with moving the bed that was here out, and moving my bed in (despite a snafu with my new letting agents over that particular detail). I managed, somehow, to feed myself a few times during all of this. I read Heaven to Betsy by Maud Hart Lovelace as a coping mechanism. Sometimes old favorites are the only way to go.

 

During this same 3.5 week period, my laptop battery decided to go wonky and I had to take it to the Apple Store in Covent Garden, which was a bit terrifying. So many people without masks milling about the area. Came to find out that was the day that the anti-maskers staged a protest in Trafalgar Square. Great. Luckily, I seem to be fine and after a week without my laptop, it returned to me good as new!

 

It’s been a lot, though: water damage, moving, without laptop for a period of time.

 

I haven’t managed to get much done on my thesis, though I did finish reading Cinderella is Dead, started on So This is Love, and have done a lot more thinking on blue dresses and fairy godmothers. I did finish my progression form, and I’ve been attending my children’s cultures reading group. I’ve also managed to officially re-enrol for my third year and paid my tuition – though that, too, made me feel very uneasy and angry and sent me into a bit of a panic. The fees for international students are already so high, and in the age of covid, what is it all for? I can’t even safely use the library facilities!

 

But I’m hopeful that things will begin to stabilize now. I’m hoping I can take a deep breath. I still have a few ends to tie up – getting my name on the utilities accounts, for instance – but the new flat already feels homier. I am so, so lucky to have food, a roof over my head, wonderful parents, and friends who were willing to help me out during my week without a useable home.

 

I think the reason I’m writing, though, is to say – I’m not great right now. I’m not in tip-top Abigail form. I know that I’m so lucky that nothing really bad has happened to me or my family. But I’m sad about lockdown. I miss safely seeing my friends. I’m sad I can’t throw a house-warming party. I’m stressed about all the events of the past month, and the past summer, and the past year. I’m sad for my country and the wildfires. I’m terrified about the rise of conspiracy theories and their role in politics (and now I’m trying to largely stay off social media for my own mental health). I’m worried about my own PhD work – will I get it done? Will I have a job at the end? What to make of the all of the budget cuts in humanities departments? What to make of the fact that the school completely cut the Approaches to Fairy Tales module?

 

I don’t really know how to wrap this up, but I’m grateful for what I have now, and working very, very hard to remain hopeful for the future.

Time Warp, or Thoughts During a Pandemic

It’s a jump to the left. Then a step to the right.

And ope, look at that it’s the end of July and my wall calendar still says March. The past four months have somehow disappeared and it feels like they never happened. What did I do with that time? I keep thinking it can’t be later than April, but then, no, here comes a writing deadline with a PhD progression deadline close on its heels. Didn’t I have months before these were due? Where did those months go?

It’s astounding. Time is fleeting.

Look again, and the calendar on the wall still says March but the calendar on my laptop says July, and that seems to be the general consensus among news websites, podcasters, and the outdoor temperature. Even the sun is in on it, rising early and setting late, taunting me with its mid-summer-ness when honestly if it wanted to do its February thing right now that would better match my mood. Sure, things are reopening, but honestly, I still feel uncomfortable with the idea of eating indoors and I don’t see myself booking a desk at the British Library anytime soon – despite the fact that I would desperately love a place to work that wasn’t my one-bedroom apartment where work-life and home-life have become so intertwined that I’m constantly stressed out, but also constantly eating pizza and watching Netflix (shout out to Schitt’s Creek). I used to catch so many colds at the British Library. Best not to risk it at the moment… right? Am I being overly cautious?

Madness takes its toll.

I spent the first three months of lockdown completely alone. One day in May I looked at my hands and started crying because they were so human, and I hadn’t been within six feet of another living being – animal or person – in more than two months. A glorious spring was passing by, and all the theatre I had booked was canceled. A trip to Paris canceled. A weekend in Cornwall evaporated like a dream. Everything that motivates me to work, gone. “If I write this much I can visit a museum or check TodayTix.” Or, “If I write this much I can get a tea with a friend.” No more. And yet, I knew I was lucky. I know I am lucky. I wasn't sick. I had food and a roof over my head. But I started to feel like a husk of a person, nevertheless. Wandering between the two rooms of my flat, growing older, like that montage in the Ghost of Christmas Past bit of Muppet Christmas Carol that shows Scrooge growing up. I played so much Animal Crossing and became so attached to a few of my islanders that I began to feel like Millie from Fahrenheit 451. Every day I needed to log in to visit my friends. My computer-programmed friends. “Do the white clowns love you, Millie?”

Time meant nothing never would again.

I’ve realized that I’m an analog person. I used to never keep a diary/calendar, because I could remember all of my meetings in my mind. I could visualize myself going to a place, at a time, meeting a person. I never missed appointments or classes or research coffee hours. Now it’s all on my computer and I find I can’t make heads nor tails of the various reading groups and meetings set up through the school. Is it on Zoom? Microsoft Teams? Google Meetings? Skype? WhatsApp? Did I receive an email about this? I even forget plans I made to video chat with friends – I’m shocked every Saturday at 4pm when my computer ‘rings’ and my friend is calling for our standing date. And the school hasn’t been exactly clear about plans for next year, or about sending invoices for all the marking I did at the beginning of lockdown (!!!), and in general, I’m feeling disillusioned with academia. Is it about education or the bottom-line? Look at all the jobs being lost – is this degree worth it?

With a bit of a mind flip, you’re into the time slip.

Then I had a glorious month that flew by far too quickly of Tim visiting me, and we watched movies and cooked dinners and – after his quarantine period ended – became regulars at the coffee shop on the corner. I felt like a normal person again. We spent most of our time in my flat, but with him working, I could work, too. I managed to finish editing/re-working a paper for an academic journal while he was here, and I wrote the only bit of my thesis I’ve managed to eke out since all this began. We’d get coffees and walk through the graveyard, and visit my graveyard boyfriend, Percy (Tim knows, he gets it). (EDIT: Tim would like for me to clarify that Percy died in 1899.) And now… I’m alone again, with mountains of writing ahead of me.

It’s so dreamy, fantasy free me.

Part of the problem is finding value in my writing. Cinderella? At a time like this? ::Gestures broadly at everything.:: But what else am I doing if not distracting myself from the news cycle? Why not distract myself with fairy tales and ballgowns, and thinking more deeply about the role of adaptation and story in the world we live in? Isn’t that valuable? Because stories keep being told, even now. Clothes keep being worn, and if anything, our relationship to our clothing has been under a re-evaluation in the past five months in a way it never has been before. Isn’t that what I study? Our relationship to clothing? Has it ever been more important than now, when dress-codes have crumbled and are being made anew? When the catwalks of Fashion Weeks have moved online, or in the case of Dior, have been made miniature? When fast fashion companies are under scrutiny for their business practices, and we have a chance at pushing for more ethical fashion? Why not disappear for a bit into costume design and iridescent blue chiffon and crinolines? Maybe I just need to have a bit more faith in my dreams, as Cinderella might sing. Maybe if I keep on believing, this thesis will actually take shape.

Let’s do the time warp again.



(Image from Rocky Horror Picture Show, 20th Century Fox)

New Seasons and Clean Slates

Since returning home, the weather has been almost uniformly gray, foggy, and humid.  Those blue-blue skies of autumn have yet to peek out from behind the clouds, and even the cooler temperatures are marred by drenching humidity.  Still, I'm hopeful that as the world turns into October, mornings will become bright and crisp, and golden-red-orange leaves will stand out against a blue sky. 

Regardless of weather, I'm excited for October-- my favorite month.  I can't wait to watch Halloween favorites like Practical Magic, Hocus Pocus, It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown, and, of course, Halloweentown.  This year, Zan and I plan to watch some horror films (for real, this time!) like The Orphanage, and maybe have a vampire movie-a-thon (with films like Only Lovers Left Alive and Interview with the Vampire).  I'm also looking forward to the release of Crimson Peak in theaters. 

Besides movies, October is my favorite month for food!  It's finally the time of year for full-on pumpkin ales and porters.  It starts to get cool enough for chili, stew, crusty breads, and roasted vegetables.  I have a million recipes to try (I will make a chicken-chili this year!). 

It's also the best time of year for hot apple cider and sweaters and starting to look forward to Christmas and beginning to work on homemade Christmas gifts.  The change of seasons makes it ideal for a good "autumn cleaning," taking stock of the year as it starts to spin into its last change.  I want to tidy up our apartment, then fill it with seasonal items, like a cinnamon broom and maybe a few decorative gourds.  I also hope to fill it with wonderful smells of baked apples and pumpkin pie.  Autumn is the best time for cozy-ing up with a good book and popcorn and seeing friends and feeling thankful.

Moreover, new months are lovely in and of themselves: as Anne Shirley says, "Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it."  New months and new seasons are inspiring-- clean states, all ready to be filled with new (ad)ventures and new memories.  Happy Autumn!

Through the Looking Glass and What I Found There

Just arrived back from an amazing journey to England where I presented a paper as part of the Alice Through the Ages conference at Homerton College, University of Cambridge.

The conference was absolutely amazing.  I heard so many good papers, and so many of them left my mind ruminating over the ideas and ready to explore more.  The three plenary sessions inspired me, especially.  All three were incredible, but the last-- on Alice and Fashion from 1865-1901-- helped me to view Tenniel's illustrations and the popular culture surrounding Alice in entirely new ways.  In addition to the academics, the conference-organizers put together a beautiful "Looking Glass Banquet" in the Great Hall at Homerton on Wednesday night.  The Great Hall was lit entirely by candlelight, huge Alice-inspired props decorated the main dias (including a giant chess board and a huge blue caterpillar with light-up eyes and a hookah), and we ate "Mock Mock Turtle Soup" (French onion), pork chops with vanilla-apple sauce, and a lovely chocolate-strawberry-mousse heart-shaped dessert.

By the time of the banquet, I had also met three incredible women from three different countries, and, summer-camp-like, within three days we were inseparable.  We supported each other in our paper sessions, we took tea together during the breaks, and we marveled at the beauty of the banquet side-by-side.  I fondly hope that these friendships will continue to grow and develop-- and perhaps lead to new intellectual pursuits and travels. 

Cambridge itself was lovely, too.  After the conference officially ended, we spent a few more days exploring the city.  We attended a "Fantastical Victorians" exhibit in the reading room at the Fitzwilliam Museum, and concluded the week with a lovely Mad Tea Party at Homerton College.


Here are a few more pictures of Cambridge and my adventures there!

The Cheshire Cat in a tree at Homerton College. This was just one of the many beautiful decorations spread throughout the grounds and halls of Homerton during the conference.

 A view of punters on the River Cam. We did not go punting, but I must say, I quite envied the people on the boats with their Saturday morning bottles of champagne.

 Mathematician's Bridge. I thought this was an appropriate picture to take, given that Charles Dodgson (better known as Lewis Carroll) was a mathematician.

 Cakes and scones at the Mad Tea Party finale to Wonderland Week and the conference.