I blanked and totally forgot about my first lecture today - not mandatory, but there's a seminar series on human rights and I'd sort of planned to attend - which is probably not a great way to kick off the term. Instead of "learning," I spent the day hunched over my desk banging out a reading list for my thesis and listening to the new Ani CD, which is super-good. (And then I went to the gym for an hour and realigned my back and listened to the Gossip so I don't develop spinal or psychological problems.)
My room gets a lot of sunshine (for England, this is relative) and my desk faces the door, so my room is a way pleasant place to work this year compared to last year. But today I ran into Daniel in the computer room mid-afternoon and he pointed out that I was wearing socks, and I realized that I hadn't put on shoes at all because I hadn't left the building.
I live in a bioturret, like a cross between Quasimodo and Pauly Shore. Except blessedly different.
I have a kitchen, a bathroom, and a computer lab. The mail and newspapers are delivered downstairs. At 1pm, everyone I know shows up for lunch and the BBC in the tea room, which I usually attend in my socks. If I absolutely need to, I can jog across the quad for a) laundry, b) tech support, c) a nurse, or d) the spiritual aid of our chaplain, who I mostly visit so we can drink tea and play with her cats, not because of any sense of existential despair. (One is a tabby!) It's all very self-contained. Unless I run out of groceries or there's a fire, I'm pretty much set - and even then, they've got food in Hall, and since there's really no fire escape from my room, I'd probably just sigh and stay put. If they ask me to start ringing any bells, though, all bets are off.