Oxford: a whirlwind fo a morning if there ever was one.

Whaaaaaaaat a day. Woke up, got ready, headed over to Nelson House to print up an essay for my tutor that I had emailed to myself, only to find out that the Skidmore e-mail was down, ran back and sent it via gmail, which thought there was fraudulent activity because I'm in England, or something, ran back to my house for a second time to grab my computer so I would at least have the document, (I might have accidentally flashed my street this time) and finally got on the train. 

WHICH Katie and I were stuck on for an hour longer than we were supposed to be, and we got there late but it was alright because it's only us two. The whole two hours were pend analyzing my essay "On Sleep," (or at least after he basically said my diagnostic was boring which I was really, incredibly upset about) and I have to revise it for next week. I feel like he just doesn't like the way I write as much as Martha Wiseman, Linda Hall, and Boschoff do? I don't know. I'm hoping his dislike for my style will just help me expand? Perhaps? Maybe? I'm worried I'll just come off as stupid. I'll also be very upset if I don't do as well here as I do at home. 

My camera charger is not actually for my camera, so no pictures of Oxford. But here's what I'm missing most about America:

Looking fine, as always.

Moral of this story: I'm nervous and anxious and all I want is Pillars and 30 Rock to turn my brain off for a minute.