Finding routine

We were walking along the wall when it came up in conversation, that part of moving to a new place that never becomes quite normal fast enough. That part of you that refuses to settle in. And although our feet have learned the way and our heads found which way to turn, something within us refused to accept the change.

It is that inability to 'get settled', the fact that we don't know where to buy binders and highlighters, can't fathom why the grocery store doesn't have crackers, are unable to discover the ins and outs of this strange place. I still don't have a food routine, which was always part of my university day-to-day, hopping from store to store. Yes that took me a while in Montreal, but I am impatient. That almost instinctive sense has been replaced by trips to Tescos, much to my chagrin. And so yesterday I ordered organic vegetable delivery, have found out that market cheese is the cheapest and so far the best way to go, and finally that the middle eastern store down the road is not the Lobo, nor will it ever be, despite my strongest desires.

First week draws to a close so quickly, even though I could have sworn to you that Wednesday was last week and Tuesday another lifetime. Now that my classes appear to be settled, I am happily awaiting my routine. My Fridays are my own, barring field work, and so today I was going to start a routine of solid work all day. I have four libraries (four!) lined up, in true Oxonian fasion, because god forbid that I should be able to get all my readings in one library. I consider myself fortunate that they are only spread from South Parks to the Bod, Manor to Turl. On that note, I am starting finally to find my way around, with a few helpful hints from my friends. My sense of direction skewed by the old buildings and unpredictable lanes, crossing one another at bizarre angles and leaving me where I never expected to be. Perhaps there is a sort of L-Space to this city, an O-Space of age, that makes us turn around north to south and lose our way. So many ages of academics have left Oxford so convoluted that even she cannot find her own way out. Or perhaps I am just adjusting to a new town, a new set of rules.

And on that note, I will move to dress and leave this place, for my epic library journey. Perhaps, time-willing, a later update on its fruitfullness. Otherwise, tomorrow is my matriculation ceremony: a shady, secret meeting where they will perhaps teach us the handshake and the password that allow us to enter behind hallowed walls of Oxford's greatest places. Or not.