I almost can't bear the idea of leaving Australia in a week and a half. Not so much the summer ("stinking" hot, as my mum always says) but the light, the accents, the crazy trees, the landscape... There's been so much of a home-coming for me in this trip - I feel like everything in me is just singing for the joy of being back.

On Boxing Day Joanne and I took off for Hanging Rock. We brought some food for a picnic (required activity at Hanging Rock) and drove out on the Calder via Woodend. Getting there found that there were bargain-priced scones-with-jam-and-cream, and couldn't resist. Sat at the cafe and had a Devonshire tea and then wandered up the rock.

It was pretty busy - and unfortunately, most people didn't seem to have the same impulse as Joanne and I to sit quietly and ponder the emptiness. I was inclined to hide away from people. Sat with my notebook taking notes on bits and pieces - lots of things to look up, follow up on. I want to be writing poems! Walking home in the dark last night I was thinking about writing, and subjects... I feel like I'm close to the new thread. Need to "listen with my heart's ear." I'll get there.

Apparently the rock itself is some sort of rare volcanic rock that other than here is only found in Scandinavia. Down the bottom it always looks so lush, and then you get up to the top and find these trees that are as grey and bare as the rock itself. It's been a few years since I was there - I went with Pete a long time ago, and sat at the top of one of the highest rocks and read him the last seven chapters of the final Narnia chronicle - I'd been reading the books to him over a few months. Since then, I don't think I'd made it back. But then, I remember before going to DC I was getting antsy because it had been a few years since I'd left Melbourne... the occasional trip to the Dandenongs aside.

Pete and I went to the zoo a few days ago. We're also planning a trip out to Healesville, probably next weekend as Pete is working during the week. I keep forgetting that he's not a man of leisure anymore. The zoo was distressingly busy - and, sadly, it wasn't just kids that thought it was a good idea to knock on the glass to try to get the animals attention. It made me pretty mad. Especially when a couple thought it was a good idea to let their three-year-old, who was holding food, walk right up to an emu wandering around the Australian section, and then laughed at their daughter when the emu took her food and she started crying. I suspect I'm something of a misanthrope, some days!

I went to Herring Island yesterday, a small island in the middle of the Yarra, near Como. It was nearly 40 degrees all day (over 100 fahrenheit for those that can't handle the proper system...) so it wasn't the ideal day for it, but Parks Victoria only run a boat service on the weekends. It only takes half an hour or so to walk all over the island, so we managed to see everything and get away relatively quickly. There are sculptures scattered over the island, which was interesting to see - they've been there a decade or so now. The Park Ranger told us they've been having trouble with a lot of the trees - the salt builds up around the island, and when trees get to a certain size, they think their roots are hitting the salt, and they're starting to die off.

Caught up with a few people last night - Amy, Aaron and Julian. Went to Section 8, an outdoor bar in a disused car park in Chinatown, then for dumplings for Amy's birthday. Good to see people! Should be spending New Year's Eve with them in some park in the city too.

I've been reading Australian stuff ferociously since I've been home - Quarterly Reviews and poetry and history... I'm hungry for it all. I feel more and more like I'm going to become an Australian specialist. So I suppose I'm stocking up on reading material to take back with me as well. Not that there'll be a whole lot of time, but - we'll get there, I suppose.

Now I'm just waiting for Joanne - we're going in to the Melbourne museum and then to a film at Cinema Nova. A nice slow day... I've got a pile of Australian movies out from my video-store-boys yesterday too, so I may watch something tonight.

At the moment it’s all writing, all the time—I don’t particularly mind. I feel that this semester has been one long class. I’ve learned so much—especially about the ways I think, and about ways to approach my formal writing. These things don’t so much overturn what I already had figured out as supplement.

Now it’s crunch time—my three big assignments are all due this week, one on Tuesday and two on Thursday. The essays I’m writing have been moving—sometimes slowly, sometimes more quickly. (My Dickens paper was all I worked on yesterday. It was good to get so much work done, and I feel that it’s going to be a good paper—it’s good to have a full draft of it now, that I can tinker with early next week.) Right now, though, I’m working on getting a full draft of the other two completed. I’ve moved out of the “DQ” (the area of the library right near the Dickens Quarterlies) into the conference and seminar rooms of the English department, which have been renamed “The Situation Room” and “The Bunker” respectively. Apparently we’re a much more present group of grad students than has been here in other years. I like the collegiality that has been set up.

Thursday is also when I hope on a plane to come back to Australia for a few weeks. As I don’t have a real television in the US, I anticipate I’ll spend some time being incredibly lazy, lying on the floor with Scout, watching movies. I’m still in shock that I haven’t seen more movies since I’ve been here. Oh well!


Because I’ve been lazy (read: insanely busy) I somehow never got around to posting my few pictures from Tennessee nor recounting the thanksgiving experience. Suffice to say: food, yum. I counted 29 Baptist churches on the highway—actually not that many for such a long drive (10 hours) but the Baptists don’t seem a very highway-centric denomination. More into the small towns the highways all bypass. I may get around to posting the list of churches, or else they may turn into a found poem.

I met Jorie Graham a few weeks ago too—I don’t always love reading her poems (some of her recent books have one or two absolute stunners, and then more that are fascinating, but also seem loose in some way I can’t define) but I’m always interested in them. And I am a fan—can’t help it. I was talking to David Gewanter about this last week, and I think it is simply that the “tyranny of distance” negates the possibility that I can play it cool with overseas poets. I love Australian poets and poetry, but I suppose I sometimes feel cut off from the rest of the world so much sometimes, that now I feel like fainting every time I get to meet a new poet. And it’s lovely that I actually get to meet some of them! I’m hoping that next year I’ll finally get into gear and do some interviews

Well, after I got over my sickness, I developed a toothache. This caused some panic, as I had to figure out the American dental universe, but Candace, a kind soul in my course who is also on the Georgetown University health insurance plan, told me that the insurance plan gives me access to Dental Basix (their spelling, not mine of course…)—it’s not dental cover, but a student discount toward all dental appointments with a handful of DC dentists. Had an appointment (shamefully, it was my first dental appointment in several years) and received high praise for the state of my teeth from the dentist. It wasn’t a toothache but a canker sore on my gums, which came from being run down the week before when I was sick. Now, in time for thanksgiving, it is all clear.

In the mean time, I feel like, after a few weeks spent in a groggy state, I’ve woken up. John Ashbery a few weeks ago was charming. Honestly, I just wanted to hug him. But I didn’t want to get too close in case I gave him whatever virus I had. I was afraid I would be responsible for killing a great poet, and obviously that would not sit well in my conscience.

Trapeze has been blissful. Sunday morning we did trapeze, aerial hoop and some tissu. I somehow have never warmed to tissu, but aerial hoop is increasingly a revelation. There’s something about the hoop that seems to come quite naturally to me: I find it easy to get my balance, and I love the transition between faster and slower spinning as my body shape changes. Besides all that, it was just so good to hang upside down, to do front support balances and falls into catches… all those trapeze-type things that make me suddenly speak in a different language. I’m aiming to get some more private classes to work on my problem areas (stroke correction, so to speak) and see if I can start developing some kind of act, for fun. There’s no-one local that teaches cloudswing unfortunately… although I may speak to the lovely ladies at Arachne and see if they ever do swinging trapeze. I’d like a little momentum… it’s thrilling. I’m also hoping in the coming weeks to do some indoor climbing in Alexandria. I need some verticality to get me more active than I was in my first couple of months here!

I’ve been watching some television shows online, as I don’t have a television here. After watching something on the (American) abc website, I noticed an ad for the complete series of “My So-Called Life.” They’ve just released a deluxe DVD. This sent me into a tailspin, and I immediately ordered it from Amazon. When I mentioned this to friends Allison, Michelle and Robyn, I discovered they were all as obsessed with the show as I was (we’ve been quoting it to each other for weeks) so we spent Saturday night having a MSCL marathon. In proper teen style we had pizza, icecream, oreos and cheap wine (in my case, swigging from the bottle added to the style of the event). To continue our nerdiness we formed the “Frozen Embryos fan club.” Robyn’s looking into getting t-shirts made. These photos were taken with my co-embyro fans.

Tomorrow morning (oh so early) Lisa-my-Lisa and I are heading to Tennessee. My first Thanksgiving. I don’t know exactly what to expect. I’ve been warned several times that I’m heading for the real south. And that my tendency towards sass could get me into trouble. I hope to internalise the sass. Hope.

Anyway, Lisa and I are meeting at the Metro Center at 8am, and catching a train to either Pentagon City or Crystal City (I can’t remember which) where we pick up the car. (I got in “trouble” with Blair, who’s trying to teach me to speak “American” when I mentioned we were “hiring” a car. They don’t hire cars, apparently—they “rent” them.) From there is should be 9 or so hours driving (with a stop or two at some roadside diner… !) and before we get to Dayton, Tennessee, which is meant to be nearish to Chattanooga.

We’re heading back on Friday morning, so it’s really only a flying visit to Tennessee—there is so much work to get done, as ever. In a month all our final projects are due, and we’re getting started on them. I feel out of practice at writing to deadlines. I think I’ll spend at least part of this weekend in the library here. “In the DQ” as Allison and I now call our study nook—a silent row of tables overlooking 37th street, just near the “Dickens Quarterly” in the periodicals section. I’ve done a lot of good study there in the past week or two. I’ve got two long essays and a complete course sequence to write before I fly home on 20 December, so there’s certainly no rest in the foreseeable future. When it’s not stressful, it’s exhilarating!

So, I’m sick today. My first time sick since I’ve been here, and I’m feeling pretty sorry for myself—sore throat, on top of sore muscles. (Yes, I finally found a trapeze class. Yes, I now know how soft I’ve become. No more of that!)

I’m giving a presentation in Dickens this week—so I’m trying to get some reading done before that. We’re on to “Our Mutual Friend,” which means we’re getting close to the end of all the class work. I’m in a group for this presentation with Allison and Maureen, which is a really lovely working group. We’ve got a meeting lined up for tomorrow to figure out exactly what we’re doing. We hope. In the mean time… reading, thinking, making notes, and…

Going to see John Ashbery read at the Folger Shakespeare library tonight. Now, with my head feeling the way it does, it’s actually just about the last thing I want to do (leaving the house is very low in my priorities right now) but I must go—I can’t miss it. And it IS exciting—it’s over ten years ago that I first read his work. It feels a little unreal. When I can feel anything at all. Mostly, I can just feel my head spinning.

Some account keeping:

In the next two days I need to:

Pay rent.

Write up my case study, after I observed two classes and interviewed the teacher, and reflect on their pedagogical methodologies.

Reread another 140 pages of “Our Mutual Friend”, and if I have time, write a response paper on it.

Write a proposal for my final paper for the Dickens class, and an annotated bibliography. After I meet with a research librarian for assistance.

Reread Johnson’s “The Vanity of Human Wishes”. Read another 50 pages of Johnson criticism. And write something erudite on Dr Johnson.

Sleep.

Since the semester started, Fridays have always been reserved for English department happy hours, but tonight I decided to stay in and do some reading, some homework, some cleaning. I’ve just managed to post some work on a subject blog for my Approaches to Teaching Writing class, and will spend some time this evening reading “Rasselas” by Samuel Johnson. (I admit, I’m becoming a huge fan of his…)

Things are afoot. I’ve started to plan my two major essays for the semester: for Dickens I’m going to look at “Bleak House” and for 18th Century I’ll be focussing on Samuel Johnson’s “A Tour of the Western Isles”. I’ve got a research consultation with a librarian lined up for Wednesday this week, so I’ll have a month or so to really work my way through those pieces. In the mean time, there’s the rest of classes and class reading to think about. So: I’m diving in.

We had a “Town Meeting” for the graduate students in the department last week. It was a chance for graduate students to come together as a group outside of class time with Professor Temple, and ask questions. The main focus last week was on PhD application processes—a large pile of paperwork that I am NOT looking forward to, I have to say. It was quite motivating, however, and made me think through my research interests. Since I’ve never been able to settle into a specific author or period that I want to focus all my energies on (Henry James aside… and in spite of my love affair with him, I don’t want to spend my whole life simply as a Jamesian who occasionally branches out into Edith Wharton) I started thinking about themes and research frames that interest me. I keep coming back to aspects of space, exile and melancholy. Perhaps over the next six months or so this will coalesce into something.

One of the girls here, Olga, has been very proactive in starting a graduate poetry group. A few of us had been talking about the idea of getting one under way, and then it’s suddenly sprouted. We met last night for the first time. I think we were initially under the impression that it was going to be a sorting-it-all-out meeting, but David Gewanter, the faculty member who’s helping us out with it, asked if anyone had poems, and we ended up jumping straight into a poem I wrote a couple of weeks ago, “October.” I think that group will be a source of sanity for me. And I’m keen to get us discussing some contemporary poets and poetics too.

I’m also getting together a reading group for next semester. They don’t really have reading groups here in the same way they do in Melbourne, but when I’ve floated the idea of getting a critical theory reading group together, a lot of people have responded very positively—including members of staff. As well as giving suggestions for a list of books we might want to consider reading in such a group, a couple have expressed an interest in being kept up to date on it—I don’t know if that means we could potentially end up having faculty in the group, but if we do, that would be wonderful. In general I’m impressed with how much staff and students come together here.

A few weeks ago in Dickens, Leona Fisher had told us about a former student of hers who has twice made a spectacle of himself in the library when reading Dickens—the first time dissolving into laughter, the second time into tears. I’m afraid I joined the spectacle-in-the-library society yesterday. Rereading the end of “Great Expectations” I just broke down when Joe left Pip a letter, after nursing him through his illness. “Ever the best of friends.” Some days I think I’m too much of a literature student for my own good.

It’s been raining most gloriously in the past few days. I have to waterproof my boots and think soon about getting a real winter coat. I have no concept of what temperature it is, because I just can’t come to terms with Fahrenheit. I just know that summer is over, and the pre-rain smells like home.

I’ve just had a response from one of the Calls for Papers I answered, and am writing my first encyclopaedia entry over the next month—I suppose I’m starting to get into this whole graduate student world well and truly now. But I’m balancing it out by convincing people to go see films and go to the zoo with me. Well, I hope I am!

I’ve been looking at Calls for Papers, for conferences and journals, and hope to write a couple of abstracts up this week. I’m also on a campaign to get others to join me in this endeavour, so we can all submit work and get into the swing of graduate student life. I’m glad I gave a paper at the Antithesis “Piracy” Symposium earlier this year: it feels, now, like it was a good hurdle to get out of the way, and now that it’s done, I can approach the next batch in a less nervous manner.

Somehow lately I have the creative energy I’ve been lacking for a while—sat down to write a poem a few days ago, and the words arrived. It’s not the right moment to sit down and write more yet, but that will come. It’s such a relief!

The last few weeks have been a bit emotional for me—I’ve been pretty homesick, which has been something of an ordeal. But too, I feel like I’ve started to make real friends too. Moments have arrived where I’ve been able to tell people that I’m not at 100%, and people have responded with real warmth. And so there’s a flipside to it all. In a way I feel that this grieving for Australia is what will help me make a real home here, for the time that I stay in America.

I gave my first (real) class paper this week, on Tom Jones. I did a kind of practice run two weeks before that when I gave a (voluntary) paper on some features of Gothic literature of the Gothic period. I found it inspiring that, without notes from the course I took way back in 2000, I could still remember so many of Peter Otto’s lectures with such clarity. That paper went well, but because it was voluntary, it wasn’t really a pressure situation. This week we’re finishing off Mr Jones, and talking about current trends in literary studies. I’m looking forward to that.

I’ve got my thanksgiving plans sorted out—my “muse” Lisa is taking me to Tennessee, where she has an aunt and uncle. My first road trip! We’ll give it a nerdy spin, as I’m trying to put together some kind of reading list for us to get through. Judith Butler and perhaps Elaine Scarry. In other news, filling in a medical form this week I had to list someone local for an emergency contact, and Lisa became my “person”. We’ve spent a lot of time in the last week sitting silently together in cafes, on benches, on the Healy Lawn, reading books and taking notes. It’s certainly nice to have a person here!

Just in case anyone thinks it’s all work, all the time for me here at Georgetown, I thought you might like to see that we also play… board games! The lovely Adam decided to institute “Game Night” on Wednesdays, and this evening the four souls who weren’t bogged down with work camped out in the grad lounge to play Risk. Kara, that is the yellow army, might have been new to the game, but she knew what world domination was all about. And I held Australia safely from the first round onwards…

My first birthday away from home, and it was a success. I spoke to people from home—mum and dad, Pete, Joanne and my brother Paul. I started celebrating on Friday night, because it was already my birthday in Australia, and I drank my first Cosmopolitan. It was delicious, which makes me slightly bitter, because I don’t want to seem like it’s a drink of choice just because of Sex and the City.

And, since I’ve made it to the ripe old age of 28 without missing out on a birthday celebration of some kind, I had a party on Saturday night. Thirty or so people crowded into my apartment, many of them bringing Australian wine. When I made my (brief) birthday speech I had to explain that the extremely loud exclamation of “OI!” that I made was an indication that it was now time to pay attention to the birthday girl.

Lisa, who I take “The New 18th Century” with, ended up staying on the futon and Sunday almost-still-morning we went “Le Pain Quotidien”, a glorious French bakery/café on M Street for a late breakfast. Proper café au lait in bowls, delicious pastries, organic soft-boiled eggs with fresh breads. It’s my new favourite place to eat, to drink coffee, to sit and scribble.

And presents! A few people brought me presents, the angels! I know I’m meant to be getting close to a grown-up age, but I still get incredibly excited to receive presents. Annie was away for the weekend, so missed the party, but was very pleased to see the marble cheeseboard that Sheena and Jeannine gave me, and we’re planning future cheese-eating ventures to give that cheeseboard a good workout.

The busy weekend meant that I got a little behind in my working routine, but I’m steadily catching up. I have 70 pages left of Bleak House to read for the week, and am halfway through writing my Dickens paper for the week (on the effect of Esther Summerson’s voice as the co-narrator of Bleak House). I’ve just written up a brief overview of Gothic literature for my 18th century class. I have two articles to finish reading, and a proper paper and a note (the note is something on Petronius, as I object to the way Ian Watt treats The Satyricon in his history of the novel, but it’s not completely relevant to the class, so it won’t do for a paper) to write for 18th century still. But: it will all be done.

Then this coming weekend—heaven!—is the National Book Festival. Every time I think of it I get excited, as Charles Simic is going to be in DC on the Mall. And Annie’s having a party for Adersh on Saturday night, as he leaves for India on Sunday. There’ll be wine tasting galore, from what I understand.

I’m planning to get out of the city for at least a day the following weekend. I’ll be curious to see if that plan works out for me!

I’m starting to get into a routine, which is a relief. The first week or two of classes I was finding it difficult to approach everything with the necessary organization and, I suppose, discipline, to get through everything comfortably. The result was that I was up late a lot of nights reading—and I’m still up late reading most nights, but I’ve managed to put a division in place such that when it comes to reading in the evening, I’m reading things that aren’t related to my classes—at the moment that consists of Edward Hirsch’s anthology The Poet’s Choice, Marianne Moore’s Complete Poems and some essays by Cynthia Ozick. Those three will most likely keep me busy for a little while, but it’s good to feel like I have some kind of time to myself to remember that, as well as being work, reading is also a pleasure.

I live very close to the M Street Barnes and Noble, so I’ve settled on that as my work place in the mornings. I read an interesting article about ways digital literacy impacts study, and one point that struck a chord with me is the fact that when you work directly onto the computer, you are more likely to interrupt yourself—either checking things online, or playing some addictive game that came with the operating system—such that the task at hand never gets your full attention. I’m now trying to go back and make a plan for essays and response papers by hand before working through them. When I’m at Barnes and Noble I don’t pick up internet (well, not without paying—which I don’t do) so it takes away one of those distractions. On weekday mornings the café isn’t too crowded, so there’s ambient noise but not the kind of bustle that makes me lose my train of thought.

Before I had an office on campus earlier this year, I found that my best way of working was “constant change of location”, so I’ve gone back to that work method. One to two hours in Barnes and Noble are followed by one to two hours back in my living room, before I go into university, where I work a little and socialise a little before classes or Writing Center work start.

Starting this Thursday I’ll also be spending an hour a week at Duke Ellington High School as a volunteer writing tutor. Duke Ellington is a local school for the arts, with streams in Music, Dance, Fine Art and Drama. I’ll be interested to see how the program functions, and fit in another piece of the puzzle that American education is for me at the moment. I think it will be another nice complement to the subject I’m taking, Approaches to Teaching Writing, which I’m starting to get very interested in.

I did make it to the gallery last week (then later the same day nearly passed out from sheer exhaustion). I spent about two hours there only, as I really just wanted to get a feel for the collection (I viewed sections of the West building only—so I haven’t gone into the twentieth century selections yet) and to find some paintings I want to come back to. There’s a wonderful Rubens painting—the first I have been really engaged by—of Daniel in the Lion’s Den. The lions were wonderful: especially their big velvety paws. I sat in front of it for a while, and will revisit sometime soon. The bus across town from M street only takes twenty minutes or so when it’s quiet, so I should be able to dash across to the mall more often now that I have scheduling somewhat sorted out. But obviously my next trip will be devoted to the East Building… and there are so many other museums and galleries to catch up with. All in good time.

I feel that I’ve started to disappear into the tunnel of graduate student life. People keep telling me that I’m very organised, and all I can say in reply is that I have to be organised, or I wouldn’t be able to get anything done.

I’ve started my Writing Center position—that is, I’ve started the work that surrounds the my position. This Sunday will be my first night in the Writing Center itself, and as such it’s my first opportunity to get hands on. I don’t know how exactly to prepare myself for this, simply because I don’t know what to expect from the students I’ll be working with. I’m sure there will be a lot of different levels of expertise.

At the same time, one of the subjects I’m taking is “Approaches to Teaching Writing.” I still feel a little mystified about what is expected of us as students in this subject, but nonetheless have already read essays on pedagogy that are going to be helpful to both the way I work through texts and which I’m sure will also be able to assist me in helping students with their work.

The book that has so far “grabbed” me the most is "The Elements (and Pleasures) of Difficulty", which not only makes the point that difficulty is itself a normal experience, but also makes the assertion that the point at which you experience difficulty is also a possible point of greater illumination: thinking out the implications of why something is itself difficult will allow the reader to see the layers that are in front of them, without the demand that everything be immediately clear.

I’ve also taken an introductory session to a series of Apprentice Teaching workshops which will give me both theoretical and practical experience that should be translatable to many different types of classroom. I need to register for other workshops now.

On Monday some emails I had written to introduce myself to students and staff in the Liberal Studies program with whom I will be working: by the end of the day, I had received at least a dozen replies to these emails—some were from staff outlining areas they believe students in continuing studies may need some extra help with, some from students keen to participate in support groups or to just ask some quick questions. I’ve also been to two MA thesis workshop classes during the week to introduce myself as someone students can come to with some of their concerns about the practical elements in writing a thesis.

One of my teachers said a fortnight ago that an expert is someone who feels confident working at the edge of their competence. It’s funny, because what I’ve already completed on my Melbourne thesis is actually longer than the thesis I will have to write at Georgetown next year—so I do already have a degree of experience such that I feel I can help other people. At the same time, I do sometimes watch myself planning this work and remember the time I used to find it difficult to speak in a class, for fear of being wrong. In my case, what I really needed was to accumulate a base of knowledge so that I could begin to see the connections between things, in addition to just developing confidence. I’m getting interested in how people learn, in how people listen. My Liberal Studies experiences will tie in nicely to the teaching workshops, and, hopefully, my classes in “Approaches to Teaching Writing.”

I’m really interested in some of these questions surrounding approaches to teaching and learning styles, as well as how other people approach organization for researching a longer work like a thesis. I’d love to hear from anyone who has any thoughts on this material.

The wonderful Annie, my housemate, had probably begun to think I would never emerge from my room, where I am usually either in or on bed, sleeping or reading, or at my desk, typing or playing Scrabble online with all and sundry. Thankfully, this isn’t the whole picture. Last weekend I went out to hiking with Annie and her friends at Great Falls in Virginia for a few hours, which was nice. We went out for Mexican food in the evening as well. On Sunday Annie and Adresh (her boyfriend, who is moving to India shortly) cooked up a feast, with fondue, mushroom tart, stuffed tomatoes and potato gratin, followed by baklava. Then they settled in with their friends Lindsay and Nikki for a Monopoly rematch—apparently the previous game had been very intense, which I can easily believe after witnessing some of the deal-making going on, while I wandered in and out of the room in between studying. And I’m determined to get to the National Gallery tomorrow, having failed to make it there several times already. I WILL see some of this town, other than the library, soon.

This is updated to say only that I have just finished writing my first paper. Oliver Twist and I, we go way back.

Things are getting busy—I turned into a social butterfly over the weekend, although I must say by the end of the whirl I wished I’d stayed in the cocoon. It was lovely to see everyone, but it was overwhelming—and everyone I know here is so new, that I don’t have the reassuring silences with them yet that I have with people from home.

First of all: the parties. Friday night was a Kennedy Orphans housewarming, for Fergus, Alex and Dave. This has since become known as the FAD event. They’re all in the government studies/international studies/security studies end of the spectrum, so I expect life gets a little acronym-heavy for them. The highlight was talking to a second year student in security studies for about half an hour about the illegal breakaway state Transnistria, a wedge of land between Moldova and the Ukraine with a population of half a million people. He didn’t believe Inga and I—didn’t even believe that it existed. I told him he should look it up, especially if he’s in the security business, as it’s believed to be a big black market for former Soviet weaponry and nuclear matter. Eventually he got out his laptop to look it up. We all sat and looked at the Transnistrian website.

Saturday was English department grad students meeting for drinks—I was there from 7 til close to midnight. I heard that some went on to 3 or 4 in the morning. Meeting more of the people I’ll be studying with, getting to know them a little bit more.

Sunday night Inga had her housewarming party—another Kennedy Orphans affair. It was also a belated celebration of Moldovan independence day, which was the previous Monday, August 27. There was much hilarity surrounding Onur’s assertion that he needed to buy waterproof candles.

Yesterday was the English Department barbeque, for grad students and staff. This is apparently now an annual event at the head of department’s house in Virginia. There must have been at least fifty people there, and it was probably the one gathering at which it seemed completely normal that my trapeze lessons would lead me to a desire to write about the circuses in Dickens’s novels.

In between all of these events it’s basically been sleep and study—other than an excursion to Ikea to pick up my last piece of furniture: a chest of drawers. As with all the Malm range, it was on the complicated side to construct, so Aga, who thinks that other than her love of wearing dresses should have been born a boy, came to assist with her many handyman skills. She was good at the logistics of it, but doesn’t much like using a hammer, so I still got to have the fun of putting the 29 nails into the back of the thing. (Sadly, I bent the 30th nail.) Now that that’s done, I’m keen to settle into a routine of work. Once each class has met a few times I’ll really be able to gauge the workload, and from there I’ll be able to plan to do other things—get out of DC, see more sights, appreciate this whole living-in-the-States lark. At least I’m settled, which has taken less than a month. I’m happy with that.

I imagine it is easy to make study here a full time job: unlike the courses I’ve taken in Australia, which only have one or two essays due a semester, the courses I am taking here will have work due every week. Both the New 18th Century and Dickens will require a weekly response paper of around 1000 words—in addition to a major paper at the end of semester. Approaches to Teaching Writing will have other work due—planning a syllabus in weekly stages for teaching a writing course. There’s something exhilarating about the idea of all this work—but it will also be a test. I assume from what I’ve heard that many undergraduate subjects function in a similar manner: there is a constant workload. This means, I suppose, it is difficult to put things off until the last minute—you can put off the weekly paper until the night before (or, I suppose, the morning of the class), but nevertheless you have to keep working throughout the semester. As an undergraduate I often tried to make this work, but it was only when I got to Honours that I had any kind of working method that would allow me to do this. When I began my research work on Henry James in Melbourne I consolidated a work pattern of daily reading and daily writing—if I hadn’t done so, I don’t know if I would be ready for this undertaking.

I am also beginning to find out more about my role as a Writing Center Associate (reluctantly I’ve begun to spell it the American way—it is, after all, their “center”) attached to Liberal Studies. It is in fact a new role, so it has a lot of responsibility attached to it. I will be facilitating a thesis support group for students undertaking a MA in Liberal Studies. These students are non-traditional—that is, they are by and large adults who work, who may be returning to study, or may be taking on a different field. I’ve been advised many of them may be professional writers, but unfamiliar with the writing requirements of academic work. In the coming weeks I’ll be meeting the teachers who run their initial Thesis Proposal Workshops, as well as Thesis Mentors to find out what areas the feel students may need assistance with, as well as meeting with the students themselves to find out what their main concerns are. I suspect that all I can do is play it by ear, keep careful notes of everything and find out what seems to work by doing it. I’m looking forward to it—I think it will be immensely rewarding, and I always think it is very brave to return to study as an adult—probably even more so here in the US, where college seems to be such a youth-oriented experience. I imagine I will act in some ways as a liaison between staff and students, that I will become a sounding board, and that I will also try to create a group whereby students can discuss work with each other, instead of feeling that the process of writing a thesis leaves them cut off from the rest of the world. Or at least, that's what I hope will happen.

Which is all to say, there is no lack of things going on that will keep me busy.

It seems I’m one of the lucky ones. There are thirty-seven in the starting class for the English Masters Program. We all had to register for classes today, the same classes that second year students also take, which all have a cap of 18 students. Some students were waitlisted on their first two choices and even their third choice for the two classes that they had to take. Because of my (say it with me) immigration status I have to take three classes to qualify as fulltime—but I managed to enrol in all three of my choices. So, starting this Wednesday I will be taking Approaches to Teaching Writing (compulsory for my position as a Writing Centre Associate, and no, I won’t spell Centre the odd American way), The New 18th Century (and don’t ask me what was wrong with the old one) and Dickens. I suppose my choices were unfashionable. Everyone seemed to want the Modernism subject and contemporary theory. But I’m happy.

It’s starting to feel like the period of arrival, and all the messiness that entails, is coming to an end. I’ve had a home for a week, I have a mattress arriving Tuesday, I have some clothes hanging on a clothes rack, a walked six blocks in the stifling heat with my new desk (it’s a card table. I won’t pretend it was some Herculean feat—just a little bit of a work. It’s a heavy card table.) I have a bookshelf, on which I have books stacks. All in all, my new home is starting to resemble a home, and not a temporary stopping place. I feel very lucky in the things I’ve picked up secondhand so far. By the time I get to Ikea next weekend (there is a real sense of relief when you get to a new country and the Ikea catalogue has all the same old items in it… some people might feel this way about a Big Mac, but for me it’s good old build-it-yourself-with-an-Allen-key furniture) I’m not sure there’ll be much left to do. And I finally bought some stamps, so I’ve embarked on my general letter-writing crusade.

A few days ago I went to the National Portrait Gallery—it felt like I was really taking a bit of a sprint through it. I was finding out what was there permanently to come back to later, and also taking a bit more time with a couple of temporary exhibitions ending very soon—including an exhibition of works from the British National Portrait Gallery. I found myself face-to-face with the John Singer Sargent portrait of Henry James that I’ve seen reproduced so often in my books. It’s always strangely moving when I have those experiences, finding myself suddenly in front of a painting I’ve known but never seen, and didn’t expect to here. In Firenze, it was the Bronzino portrait of Lucretia Panciatichi that James scholars have identified as that which Milly Theale encounters at Matcham. Here it was the master himself. I suppose it would be churlish in this instance to be disappointed that the Bronte portrait wasn’t also in DC—I’ve wanted to see that painting (that’s been through so much…) in person for years.

I have ventured out to a few farmers’ markets in the past few days—bought locally grown green tomatoes in Wednesday at Rose Park, and today I went to the larger Eastern Market. I plan to go to Dupont tomorrow—once I’ve had a chance to see them all, I can decide which will be the best to shop at.

Last night had a few people over—an impromptu evening where, no-one will be surprised to learn, I fed a few of my “orphans.” Gia, another Australian girl, came around with some cheese and crackers, as I’d bought a bottle of wine at Trader Joe’s earlier. Then Aga, a Polish girl here for a PhD in Economics, arrived and announced she was hungry. I was glad of a chance to get to feel more at home in the kitchen, and as I’ve already made a pesto a few days before, I made ravioli with pesto, cherry tomatoes, eggplant and spinach for us three. Soon after that Maryléne, a French exchange student who’s been staying with me while looking for a place, arrived home and joined in the cheese eating. Finally Sheena and Jeannine showed up as well. It was a nice, though relatively quiet, night. Gia, Aga and Jeannine went onto a party that was starting up at 10.30, while I went to do a little reading and then crashed.

I have a home, and a new network of friends.

I have a secret society, the Kennedy Orphans.

I have a permanent phone number. And a swanky new cell phone.

I have begun to compile a list of American journals to send work to, and have found work by a few very new poets who I’d like to contact.

I have subscribed to five magazines, and think I’m going to balance one more on top of that pile. (A couple are only bi-monthly or quarterly… I can manage!)

I have sat through long sessions informing me of all the ways I could violate my immigration status.

I have nine long-distance Scrabble matches on the boil care of Facebook and Scrabulous.

I have a plan to meet a couple of girls from the English program tomorrow at The Tombs.

I have real food in the cupboard, after a trip to Trader Joe’s. I bought organic strawberries. Cheap.

*

I don’t yet have a Social Security Number. That’s four hours of my life I’m yet to go through.

I don’t yet have a bed. I’m sleeping on my housemate’s futon, which will become our couch as soon as I find something to sleep on permanently.

I don’t yet have textbooks. But I’ve hardly had any time to read either. Next week.

I have not yet received any mail. But I only moved into a real address last Saturday.

I have not been to a single museum yet. I plan to remedy this today. National portrait gallery anyone?

*

I probably will never have stamps. I swear, post offices are scarce in this part of town.

My first surreal-celebrity experience. I was in “Creamcheese Annie”—a vintage store I couldn’t resist, looking at 50s dresses and designer jeans when I turned around and there was a girl who I thought was the spitting image of Nicole Richie. I just smiled and wandered to another rack, and then suddenly the store manager, the owner and the owner’s husband were all there, pulling out Pucci scarves and designer sunglasses, asking “Do you like YSL?” in amongst gushing “Thankyou for coming!” and “I’m such a fan!” (I have to admit, I’ve never really found out what she does, other than feuding with Paris Hilton. But I was heartened to see that “size zero” in the flesh wasn’t, in fact, scary looking .)

I’ve had something of a taste of being an international student since arriving in DC, though I’m not sure it is really comparable to the experiences of other international students, because English is my first language—even if I don’t quite speak (or spell) American. Still, it’s been a constant challenge that I’ve arrived at apartments, at houses, at basements and had to explain that I’m Australian, and figure cultural translations as I go. I assume that because I am Caucasian and speak English fluently I must have a much, much easier time than some of the other students I’ve met—but then, everyone I’ve met has been incredibly helpful. People are interested, ready with advice. I find it ironic that from the stories I have heard the Off-Campus Housing Department seem to have been the least friendly, least helpful people the students who’ve been looking for housing this week have met. In my part, these are only stories—I suppose I had already figured out that there was no magic equation to make finding a place easier. Everyone looking has access to the same resources—everyone has been sharing war stories of Craigslist for the past week. Dreary, expensive basements, ritzy condos, shared bedrooms, and, too, the rare bargain. It’s been quite a week.

Today I signed a lease. This in itself was a difficult process: I’ve found a home (a lovely, and too-expensive home—as far as I’m concerned it will be like living in the Hilton long term…) with a new flatmate, Annie. I met the landlord today, and provided every scrap of financial information I had with me. Because I’ve never had a US bank account before, or a credit card or social security number either, I have no credit history. Some international students haven’t had to go through that, while I was told that along with the letters and references I have provided, the landlord will also run a background check on me, and see if he can get an Australian credit report as well. Nonetheless, I’ve signed on for 12 months, and move in Saturday morning. Tomorrow I’ve got to go searching for a mattress, so I will at least have something to sleep on, and Annie is helping me with some basic furnishings—bookshelf, desk, chair—and bedding.

Tonight I went out with new friends. I met Sheena (a Londoner, and a linguistics grad student) a few nights ago in the bathroom while brushing my teeth, and chatted to her for a few hours again last night. This afternoon I dropped in to say hello to her and met Janine (from Luxembourg, studying German literature) who was starting to get distressed because she hadn’t found a place yet. We all talked it out, and reassured her that no matter what, on Saturday when we leave the Georgetown dorms, she would be able to stay with one of us until she found her home here too. After this conversation she got an email about a shared basement, and we walked her up to 37th and T: after a haphazard tour, it looks like she’ll be taking the place there, in a furnished student sharehouse. Knowing that we were all taken care of, we went to The Tombs and shared a plate of hummus (delicious) and had some drinks. Anna (Colombian, studying Foreign Service) regaled us with stories of her earlier American College experiences when she’d attended a college in Massachusetts. “You will see people turn up to classes half an hour late in their pyjamas. No pens, just a coffee. Wearing pyjamas is allowed. It’s considered free speech.” I suppose, when undergraduate students have to live on campus for their first two years, sometimes it must seem easier than getting dressed. But you won’t catch me doing it.

I never want to see this bed again.

When I was in Italy studying the language a few years ago, I met an American judge who was a friend of my flatmate’s mother. She told me that when she was young she’d joined the peace corps, and she still considered their method the best one for teaching a foreign tongue: when she had arrived in whichever South American country she was sent to, they threw her straight into the middle of it. Find a place to live, and find a way to communicate—the only rule was that you couldn’t live with other Americans. In that situation she learned Spanish pretty quickly. I feel like I’m learning DC just as quickly: so here I am, in the deep end. And it turns out American isn’t really a language I speak, though I’m getting there.

When I got up Saturday morning I just had this task in front of me: get to know the city, find a place to live. Well, I don’t think I’ve penetrated far into DC, but I’ve at least learned the bus system, visited quite a few different areas, found a few spots that provide drinkable coffee. I’ve been within 3 blocks of the White House and had no idea that that was the case, though, so I suppose being a tourist comes later. Or as a friend said to me: you’ve got your priorities—you’ve found vintage clothes, good books and fresh food. And when I’ve got two years ahead of me, and not two weeks, I suppose that it’s the everyday comforts which come first.

So here it is: the deep end. I’ve looked at three apartments. One lovely (but not available for another few weeks), one awful and one somewhere in between. I’m looking at two more shared apartments tomorrow, and waiting to hear back from a real estate agent about some new one bedroom places in Mt Pleasant that fit in my price range. I suppose house hunting is just as awful no matter where you do it, but I suppose it’s this feeling of potential freefall that goes alongside it: I have to be out of the dorms here in another five days.

Walking down the streets of Georgetown today, I feel like I’ve only just started to understand what affluence is: and no matter how materialistic I may be, I admit I find it quite disturbing. The row houses are beautiful, the cobbled streets poetic, but among other things, Georgetown feels like a particularly white enclave in the city. I went to Adams Morgan today, and found a much more vibrant mix of cultures—it felt more natural. And I got served the single biggest cup of coffee (and a proper caffe latte, too) I have ever drunk. It’s not all Starbucks.

I think I've found the deal of the century - at Firehook bakery I've gotten a lovely lunch of Chickpea Lemon Salad for $2.07 with tax, and, what's more, am able to pick up some open wireless network or other for free. The salad is good - and healthy - and its only a stone's throw away from Kramerbooks. I'm planning a visit there next. But no buying! Well, not today at least.

I got into a long conversation yesterday at Starbucks by a lady who is 76 and living at a shelter. She had studied music at the University of Indiana when she was young (when I was doing music, that was my dream school - I fell in love with Donald Freund's music and wanted to study with him) and then Theology at the Catholic University in DC. She lived with the nuns at the Catholic U, and worked for years typing up theses and manuscripts. She was an interesting lady - we talked about John Donne and Herrick. It was disheartening to see her sitting there with all her belongings, not sure when she would find a permanent place to live.

The first house interview today: with a divorced Algerian epic poet. He seemed very gentle - and looked, I must admit, like an Algerian Woody Allen. I think he's not used to people knowing where Algeria is - he took some time describing its position. We chatted about poetic forms and rhythm, as well as despotic rulers.

I made it downtown - very briefly - today. First went to Chapters, in its new location. It was shut. Stared inside, and thought it looked pretty, but I like any book shop that displays novels and not diet books in the window. Kramerbooks will do nicely for now anyway. After staring forlornly into Chapters I wandered down to the mall, which wasn't like I'd imagined it. I suppose it'll need a bit of rain to stop looking so parched, and then I'll get in some more time there.

ITomorrow I've got to try to tackle some more of the administrative side of things - to pay Georgetown fees and set up a bank account. I still haven't decided on a bank.

I am not jetlagged. This is a minor miracle - I managed to sleep enough on the plane(s) to survive the journey, but no so much that I had any problem going straight to sleep when I hit the pillow last night at 11pm. Woke to my travel alarm at 10am and made my way to Dean & Deluca where, sadly, Scott Speedman was not making the coffee.

My list of things to do today was not terribly strenuous: eat some food, get a cell phone, check some more housing ads and ring home to say I've arrived safely. I think the call home must have been about 4am Melbourne time, so I can only apologise for that, but I've achieved all the above. I'm blown away by the size of a "small" caffe latte, but they're drinkable, and not as expensive as I'd dreaded.

Walking along M street I encountered lots of fancy dress shops I plan to investigate further in the future. I also spied a vintage shop that was called (wait for it!) Creamcheese Annie. Now I'm definitely checking that out. I have largely managed to avoid tourist sites so far - I saw Georgetown's Old Stone House, but haven't been near the Mall or the Capitol or the White House yet. But I did entertain the guy who helped me with my cell phone (hey, I've got the lingo, straight up!) by showing him the pictures on Australia coins. He liked the echidna.

I was feeling a bit at sea - especially when I got to the old address for Chapters bookshop only to find it had moved - until I got to Kramerbooks. Oh! My new home! Feeling I should get into a Washingtonian spirit, I'm now the proud owner of "The Education of Henry Adams." I have to finish my Lionel Shriver - "The Post-Birthday World" care of Kevin and Jennifer, but after that I expect some serious reading to take place. And at some point I'll go check out this city. Right now, though, I'm happy with a few healthy, sensibly sized meals and sleep.

I've chosen my books. There will be heartache when I realise certain things aren't with me, and I'm sure there'll be an Amazon wishlist, requests for suddenly necessary books to be sent over and a truckload of new purchases. But it's done.

I am reading Lionel Shriver's new novel on the plane. I am taking the first volume of Peter Porter's collected poems and the complete Zbigniew Herbert, and buying new poetry to read upon arrival. I'm taking my comfort-zone stack of Anne Carson's.

I find it hard to realise that I'm taking perhaps one percent of my collection, and that the rest are sitting in boxes under my parents' house, or on shelves inside. I'm sure I'll collect a few books when I'm home at the end of the year, but in the mean time, I feel like I'm grieving my collection.

First things first - I haven't written anything here in an age, but as I'm heading back overseas, I thought I'd better get into the habit of writing again. This is at the very least a good way of keeping track of this trip for myself. So, we'll see how it all goes, eh?

Georgetown: I feel like I should have memorised its history and read up on its founder, but in truth, I know very little. I'm still in a state of denial about going, though I've recently started thinking of it more as a trip a la the trek of 2003 than as moving. The only snag there is that on my trip I got to book into hostels online, and didn't have to worry about finding a permanent place to live, with the followup concerns of buying a bed and bedding, and wondering if I'll need to find myself some other furniture along the way. Nor did I feel particularly tempted by amazing pairs of shoes (when did I start channeling Carrie Bradshaw?) as I knew anything with a heel would be a waste when I was on the hoof carrying a backpack. So, "travel" or "move", this is a little different from anything I've done before.

The Party: I know that I'm not going to catch up with everyone before I go, and that I will wake up in Washington one day and think - "I wonder what x is up to!?" If x is you, I'm sorry. And it's less than a week now until the going away party, and 12 days till I'm on a plane, wishing UA served halfway decent food. I have to admit that whenever I think about it, I freak out - but I'm not going to have time to freak out when I get there, because I'll be throwing myself in the deep end.

Washington: I've heard the good and the bad. I'm still excited.