There is a stopping point.

There's the kind of stopping point where you know you've said everything that needs to be said and since that's all that should matter, that's all that there is to be done.

And then you get word-counted, formatted, sorted, printed, stapled, queued, signed, stamped, and receipted. And then you can wander around town with a fantastic weight off your shoulders and wonder just what on earth you should do with yourself. It's a beautifully tragic moment, really, when your final papers are done and submitted -- because you're unbelievably grateful for the peace but you're ungodly anxious about a sudden lack of meaning to your existence.

And after the soul-searching quandary, you can start to think like a normal person again and plan for groceries and the other kind of studying that's still around for the week. This week we're having bean chili, african peanut stew, and pea soup whilst prepping for Monday's Icelandic Culture exam. Warm foods to fend off unwarm moods.

It's a peculiar time of year for me. I'm listening to jazz, just under uncontrollably. I'm into strange things, like yellow nail polish and big vintage rings. My tastes have just taken a strange turn and even my body's doing its own thing, and won't let me sleep until late, late, late. Absolutely peculiar. I found a pair of shoes that rung my bell and have started to collar my dreams, but have no idea how to get my hands on them because they don't know if they're getting more in. I rarely fall head over heels for a pair of shoes, rarely rarely, so this being one of the unusual cases means I might just have to figure out how to get them.

I started volunteering at a charity bookshop down the road in Headingley, called Oxfam Books. The most dangerous place for a book-lover to volunteer, admittedly. I've already bought 2 books and I only started yesterday. I went again this morning and am going to try to go in once a week til I leave because I already like it so much. The other volunteers have mostly been older, but to be honest it's not even the people that I'm interested in, it's mostly just being around books that often and feeling like I'm serving some purpose somewhat for 4 hours a week.

I'm going to venture out of England for the first time next week with a visit to Dave, my old housemate, who's in France at the minute. I'm excited about traveling. To be honest, I haven't done much of it since I've been here, but hopefully this semester every little bit of extra money will go toward small trips so I can feel like I wandered around a bit before I go back to the States in the summer. Speaking of which, how ridiculous is it that its already a new year with a new summer in front of it? Didn't last summer just just leave last week?