I am not dead, nor was I sold into white slavery

Right, so, oops, I guess? As I am sure all of my loyal readers have tearfully, moaningly noticed, I kinda disappeared there for a while. I could try to excuse it--I have been telling all of my professors and aquantainces back in ole Caledonia that I was out of the country and in a place without Internet access (as if such a place exists; I think even the moon must have dial-up)--but the reality is I just checked out for a while. I am not going to pretend to feel bad about it. Maybe if this blog was part of a successful personal "brand" I would feel sorry for letting it languish, but then, in that scenario I would also probably have a personal assistant to write entries for me as well.

So yeah, I went back to Portland for a couple weeks, and it was wonderful, up there with some of the best days of my life. That's making it all the more difficult to adjust to being back in Scotland, and I might be unaccountably and inappropriately resentful of this place for a few days. I hope to have slept through most of it, as I was unconscious for twenty out of the last 24 hours. Up high! And I have some fun times to come and to share with my dear readers--trips to France and Denmark, visits from friends and family from home, the Fringe and other festivals. There are also some not fun times to share, namely the researching and writing of my dissertation. I wonder if I could just submit this blog?

So there it is. Today's task (and tomorrow's, and the next, I suspect) is to readjust to being here, and to remind myself that it is not Scotland's fault that I chose to move here just as I was falling in love with someone five thousand miles away. Because it wasn't Scotland's fault. It was the economy's. And, even if being here hurts right now, I am looking forward to all of the cultural experiences left for me to discover:

There. I feel better already.