This is a warm-up.
Okay, so first I think I should say that I'm not really a librarian.
Not yet, anyway.
I am also not roaming.
Not yet, anyway (yuk, yuk, yuk).
What I should clarify is that the title of this blog is a nickname given to me by a fellow intern at my summer job (in a library!). Libraries, as we know, are notoriously low-budget. I had no desk. I roamed. I stacked books. I think we can put two and three together, here.
BUT! I am thinking about library school/librarian(ism) for my future, after I graduate from college in the spring. Anyone? Anyone? No one.
I liked the nickname a ton, though (it's catchy!), and if I don't become a librarian in the end, we'll think about a new name for this blog when we come to burnin' that bridge.
(Who is this 'we' I keep referring to?)
Anyway, I'm about to ship out to Oxford for a semester during the fall of my senior year (hence, roaming. I can't say at this point how many more double-entendres I'll hit you with). Somewhere along the line of deciding (insanely) to spend a semester at one of the most difficult universities in the world (note that I avoided the adjectives 'prestigious' or 'famous'), I thought it would make perfect sense to blog about it. Why? Because a) I'm of that narcissistic generation that needs constant attention, b) it stores all my updates and experiences in one place because writing separate emails to all of my loved ones is, I'm sorry, just asking too much, and c) I'm fundamentally a chronically anxious, mentally-ill, perpetually insecure and fearful 20-something who has never done anything adventurous/on her own in her entire life, and for goodness' sake, if you're not going to watch this train wreck with rapt gusto and verve, you are going to miss out, baby.
But I am not at Oxford yet. I stress 'yet.' It's a long and painful wait, one is making me feel like a lazy fat. All the students I know are back at school, being industrious, making plans, making moves, and I am at home counting down the days until I have to board a plane by myself for the first time ever, possibly¾and for everyone else on board, hopefully¾fully sedated. So this is a pre-post to my posting while I study at Oxford this term. I figured I should get a jumpstart on the travel blogging because while it may seem to everyone around me that this saga has been going on for months*, I haven't been adequately preparing for the trip at all. As in, nothing has been bought, no important persons have been notified (like my BANK. I'm having night terrors in which my ATM card is eaten at a Mac on a dark London street because I didn't tell BoA I was going abroad. Also, I'm never wearing shoes in these). Hopefully blogging about this experience will provide me with some motivation (fun fact: the usage of 'hopefully' is almost always incorrect). I've been mostly postponing any "for real" planning for this trip, so today I made a concerted effort to get my gluteus in gear, as it were. Which means I dragged myself over to B&N to buy a decent travel guidebook. I snatched up the Let's Go! edition for Great Britain. I've heard great things about this series (it's written for students, by students), and it was on the cheap end, so I gave it a whirl. It's on my side table as we speak (unopened, but that's insignificant).
Of course only a moron would put off planning for something as exciting as a semester abroad. I am that moron. My summer (read: life) has been all grad school prep (read: crap), which is probably what most (read: all) people have heard me talk about lately, if they're unfortunate enough to encounter me on the street or, goodness forbid, Facebook chat. Poor little souls. They've been so good about lending me a kind ear (and I know you're all thinking, "Isn't this chick GONE yet?"). But I can't stop talking about the grad school process (e.g. here I am, writing in a blog about it). It's word vomit everywhere. I fear what it's doing to my mental health, or, more importantly, everyone else's mental health. It's like an addiction. Like when heroin addicts try to reason that everyone else in their immediate family or morning bus route is similarly addicted. Well. I'm not too experienced where heroin is concerned, but coming out of B&N tonight, I passed a woman in the parking lot, and did a double-take. Did I recognize her from somewhere? Young twenty-something, check. Worn face, furrowed brow, check. Crooked glasses, check. Stressed slouch, check. Symptomatic caffeine-withdrawal shaking, check. Laptop in tow, check. Oh look, it was ME. I could tell this poor woman was schlepping to B&N for a night of resume-building/cover letter-writing/personal statement-composing. In fact, I think I was looking at me. Do I look that tired? Haggard? Worn? Bored, stressed, defeated?
Or am I projecting?
Anyway, I resolve not to think about grad school for at least 2 or 3 hours, and start reading my guidebook. Pen in hand. Slippers on, and possibly some coffee. Really good coffee, which I don't think they have in England.
But first, I need to study for the GRE.
Alright, I'm really stopping that now. For tonight.
This stuff sounds a lot wittier in my head.
*Like, I mean months: "Have you heard about Oxford yet?" "Well, I applied, but I haven't heard back yet. You know. Since I submitted the application 9 months before the deadline and told everyone about it like it was happening tomorrow. But thanks for asking. Check back in a few."