Leveling Up

Thursday was the Upgrade Panel, which I prepared for by losing my keys, drinking six cups of coffee, and being too nervous to eat. And also wearing my lucky socks. I had to go through a similar panel in the final year of undergrad for my honors project, so I was expecting a few hours of complicated questions on things that I hadn't really thought about - in undergrad they made me read all of Faulkner because I couldn't articulate exactly why the three stories I'd given them had their section breaks where they were, or any section breaks at all - and then to be told to leave the room while they deliberated on whether to let me continue on. So imagine my surprise when I walked into the office, sat down between my two panelists, and was told, "You've passed, just so you know. I think we're going to begin with the critical section; tell us about your methodology." So now, against all odds and in spite of what all of my male professors in undergrad told me, I am officially a PhD candidate.

The meeting ended with the directive to take it easy over the summer, and not turn in anything until September, which is directly at odds with the Hub's directive that all students shall be at their desks during business hours. But the supervisors make the rules, I suppose. So I meandered home and celebrated with whisky and a re-read of Bridget Jones's Diary, which is much funnier now that I know what all of the Britishisms mean.

Despite visiting the 26 charity shops in Norwich that I know of, I haven't found a copy of The Fault in our Stars, which is irritating because I swear I've seen one before secondhand. It's also a bit surprising, because popular books cycle through the charity shops at a rate of knots in Norwich. I could always buy it new, but he's already rolling in royalties, and it's a bit of a matter of principle to only support (no matter how little they'd get from the sale) writers that I actually support. In some cases, I'd rather Oxfam got 2.50. Twilight, despite being a few years on from top of the list, was for sale in the first shop I checked, and I felt immensely embarrassed of buying it while not being sure why I should be embarrassed and wondering if there was something wrong with me for being embarrassed.