6 August didn't seem like a lifetime away when I arrived here, but it certainly felt farther away than it has turned out to be.
Today was about balancing getting ready to leave (and not panicking about my extraordinarily swollen suitcases) and finishing some only-in-Cambridge-would-this-be-possible work in the University Library: careening through another novel by the same woman who wrote the craziness I described last week, making the preparations for signing away a large amount of money for some photographs I need for an article I'm working on. Late in the afternoon, a siren began to sound. "This is a staff announcement. Please wait for further instructions," a female voice began intoning over and over. We were then given an update (from a live woman, rather than a recorded one) letting us know that there was some possibility that we would need to evacuate, but that we hadn't reached that moment yet. I figured that an almost-evacuation was a good time to head to town for some last errands (mailing a box, mailing postcards to new advisees, acquiring the last part of a candy request from a particular person reading this paragraph RIGHT NOW, buying one last coffee so that the one at the airport tomorrow will be free). The day unfolded swiftly and rightly. With twenty more minutes, I could even have finished reading the day's awesomely wacky novel in relative calm.
Now all is packed, and one of my suitcases is definitely too heavy to fly for free--possibly too heavy not to draw down some ire from the driver of my 3:30 a.m. coach. My take on this: what is there to do? I'll shell out the $50 to get my heavy bag home on the plane. If necessary, I'll shell out the $100 if both bags are over the weight limit. And so now it's time to take a nap.
On the time toward which I'm transitioning, it's 9:15 p.m.
And a joyous P.S.: one of my writing friends has just done very well for herself. Huzzah!