I had my last two tutorials of the Michaelmas term today. Both of them, as expected, went reasonably well — in keeping with my observation that, this year, my biggest challenges aren’t going to be academic. After writing a total of about 55,000 words between my two tutorials this term, I’m fairly burnt out on expressing ideas in anything more than primal grunts and clauses of no greater than 140 characters, but here are some assorted end-of-term reflections:

The real danger, when studying abroad, is getting too close to too few people in too short a period of time. This is the same trap, I think, that a lot of people fall into their freshman year of college. When you’re in a new and unsettling environment, it’s easy to cling desperately to the first person who clings back. Both my freshman year at Swarthmore, and now at Oxford, those people have been the ones I’m closest to, geographically. But in practice, these friendships — with flatmates and so forth — are based on convenience rather than any kind of common interest. Sometimes, by total coincidence, they work out — see also: Caitlin and Sara from my hall freshman year at Swarthmore, who remain my closest friends at Swarthmore — but more often than not, they’re doomed to failure from the start. All things considered, this term has made me glad that I made an effort to meet Oxford students beyond the ones in my apartment complex; without them, I don’t think I’d have anyone left to talk to at this point.

Also, having a blog that people actually read has made it a lot harder to accurately (or at least comprehensively) document my study-abroad experience. A lot of the stories I’d most like to tell and that most people probably want to hear — about British boys, for instance — are made impossible because, for whatever reason, I have a greater reluctance to blog about people who read what I write than I ever did in the United States. I’m kicking around two solutions: either I’ll resurrect my unloved but not-quite-abandoned LiveJournal and post the juicy stuff as Friends Only; or I’ll just get over myself and keep blogging without regard for possible repercussions. I’m not saying that I want to return to the dark days of my blog as some sexual tell-all, but there’s a lot that remains unsaid. Prepare yourselves.

Oh, and I saw Thom Yorke last night at the Rose and Crown. I’ve been losing my shit over this in a pretty fangirl-ish way on Twitter for the last 24 hours, but: holy crap, Thom Yorke! Next to me! In a pub! And yes, he look exactly as sleepy/drug-addled/lost in thought when you encounter him face to face.

As a closing comment: I realized last week that my column in The Phoenix about British antisemitism was actually my last column of the semester (and probably the year; I haven’t reapplied as a columnist, mostly because I don’t have very much of interest left to say). That’s definitely not the note I wanted to end my column on. Let me state, for the record, that studying at Oxford, for all its ups and downs of poorly-maintained apartments, abysmal cell phone service, lackluster friendships, dreary weather, and at times overwhelming academic stress, has been an incredible experience, and one that I’d repeat in a heartbeat. I’m immensely thankful that I’ll be here again in the spring, because one semester wouldn’t have been nearly enough. I’m beginning to think that even a year won’t be.

But for now, it’s time for a vacation from Old Blighty. The end of term couldn’t have arrived at a better moment.