Immatriculation, the Runway and Splendid Singledom

Since the last post I've been accepted to university, and have sent off the immatriculation paperwork and paid the fees, at least pro forma since I don't know how long the banks take to sort them out. I have laid excellent plans for preparing academically, because I am hoping to burrow into my studies and only crawl out of them for basic interhuman communication and for work (nature thereof to be determined).

At the moment I am sitting in the bookshop, after a not unproductive morning wherein someone appreciated the lovely wrapping papers which we sell at their full aesthetic value and someone else bought a book out of the window display. The New York Review of Books arrived this morning, so I retrieved it guiltily from our postbox and brought it along to the shop, and have skimmed over Michael Tomasky's political article when customers have come in because staring at the computer then would seem a trifle out of keeping.

Yesterday my sister T. prepared fudge for us again, out of cream and sugar and chocolate and beet root syrup and butter, and it turned out well. Then we had Leberkäs, which are rectangles of meat that taste quite good with sharp mustard of French provenance scraped over them with a fork and toasted in the oven, with mashed potatoes and apple sauce.

Otherwise I've been thinking about carrying on my "live blogging" of War and Peace for my books blog, though since Tuesdays are supposed to be about modern literature or premodern literature I meditated about riffing on an Aesop fable or one of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales instead.

So what I did do in the end is look at more photos from New York Fashion Week. So far I have really liked Zac Posen's collection, which looked I thought like a very Parisian audition for the house of Dior, and Carolina Herrera's collection, which is inspired by the 1930s? and Bauhaus in a vivid way that reminds me of the costumes and buildings in Poirot, and Donna Karan's collection, which is inspired by Haiti and I thought dealt with the artisanal sources faithfully and self-effacingly, though of course she dropped in conventional monochrome pastel dresses for a better-rounded collection. As usual, liking collections is quite different from thinking that I could wear them well or would want to wear them, just as I think that admiring a painting is probably better than acquiring the original, firstly because it might not fit in with one's home or one's personal aesthetic and secondly because there are so many good ones that preferring one to the other is difficult to absurd and thirdly because familiarity breeds contempt.

Anyway, as far as work goes, I first of all want to connect my studies with very concrete skills, and secondly if I have more than 200 Euros in my bank accounts I will be greatly surprised. I have more money which is earmarked for clothes (from my aunt) and for piano lessons (from a friend of the family) respectively, which I tend to keep sacrosanct. But I have relaxed my rules for the latter enough to spend 10 Euros from it on a concert and consider using more to hear the singing masterclasses with Christine Schäfer at the Hanns Eisler music school at the end of the month, which is partly also intended to improve my background knowledge of the discipline in case the opportunity arises to write a Maria Callas-related essay for my Greek courses. The problem is having enough funds to pay for transit to and from such events.

But otherwise I am very happy with not having extra money. Firstly it is much easier to not spend money if it isn't there to spend; I never consider the money truly mine anyway because there are many rightful claims on it first of all by pitching into household expenses, secondly by paying health insurance and other necessary things, and thirdly by charities; and thirdly I spent my childhood and teenagerhood feeling uncertain about every single purchase I made (grocery shopping, present shopping, buying gummy bears and clothes and so on for myself during university) in case it was superfluous. Besides I don't much like going out, so if I do meet people I like I'd rather talk with them or play soccer or whatever than go to restaurants or lectures or whatever, and it gives me the perfect excuse to avoid even seeming like I am on the search for a boyfriend.

More friends would be nice and it is definitely dreary not being able to talk to people; but where a boyfriend is concerned I need to sort out my psychological messes, grow up and into myself — which includes beginning to work properly, and finally come across the proper person first. In school and university, the boys whom I admired the most were ones who were friendly (not to me but in general) and clever, and I called those crushes — really it was in a pretty sisterly way without the least bit of a spark. Besides I have an inkling that I am going to be the strong, reliable, and somewhat inscrutable person who knows how to do the necessary things (paperwork, plumbing, electrical repairs, etc.) and how to make people feel secure in an eventual relationship; that sounds rather nice to me now that I am no longer a needy teenager, and I have to be extra-well prepared. Partly I think about what is right for me in that respect because three of my Facebook friends from school are pregnant and six are married and one at least already has a child, but it was clear even back in Grade 7 that I have my own turtle's pace of leading my life, which is certainly odd but effective and, indeed, right.