Remembering Oxford (3): The Late Nights

I'm sitting on my couch having officially stepped (or slouched?) into 2009 three hours ago. This isn't much of a feat since the past few nights have seen a very messed up sleep schedule. Not sure where that's coming from, unless jet lag is hitting me a little late, which I guess could happen. . . Anyway, I think that tonight it is only appropriate to write of Oxford late nights, since at this moment I remember them well, and fondly.

They began during British Landscapes, a time when all in Crick and the Vines (the other programme house) were working towards the same essay due dates for our course in British history, which included cartography, philosophy, literature, etc. The first essay deadline was tough. Within two weeks of arriving in Oxford we were already reconciled with an all-nigher. I remember one night calling it sleepy time at around 12:30am and then waking up at 5:00 and typing with Rob and several cups of caffeinated beverages. That was my first induction into the world of Oxford sleep deprivation. The second British Landscapes deadline found many of us up literally all night (I believe I went to bed at 7:30am after sending in my essay) and sleeping till noon.

During Full Term our tutorial essays kept us up quite a bit. I think the earliest I made it to bed before a primary tutorial was 2:00am, to wake at 8:00am. But you know, while I regret that lack of sleep, I actually wish that I had enjoyed more of Oxford, more of my housemates. But essay nights were not entirely lifeless. Many of the Crick residents had Thursday tutorials, so Wednesday night was often full of coffee and a collective sense of scholarship and sometimes comiserating. We were there for each other, though, making tea, letting others ramble, giving back rubs. Christye and I tried to "camp-out" and have some real heardcore writing time, complete with caffeine, sarcasm, and profanity. Well, we generally had at least three of the four desired features.

My final tutorial found me up late in the IT room with Sylvia Plath and a consequently disturbed mind. "Ariel" speaks to me of self-destruction, of shooting over and over again into a process of "liberation" by violence. While that is certainly debatable, like much of Plath's work, then point is that in those long hours of eerie discomfort, Heather came to visit me and keep me company while I waded through the substanceless blue. And every once in a while I would emerge and walk down two flights of stairs to find Elizabeth, Abby, T.J., and the fam ready joke around a little and blow off steam. I believe that is also the night I eroded through the chocolate of a Reese's with my tongue.

For our final essay, which was longer than any case study for British Landscapes or tutorial essays, we were all joined once again in the common bond of writing for the scrutiny of Dr. Baigent. I had discovered the beautiful quietude of the IT room upstairs a few week prior, and therefore staked my claim in the desk in the corner. Rob, who's computer was in the repair shop at that time, and I made contracts that we would not use the Internet for recreational purposes until certain essay goals were met. And we made it! I finally turned in at around 2:00am. Another hard night, but a very satisfying one at that, much like the rest of the semester.