I feel like the title of this post is part of the story of my life here in Edinburgh. I've been informed by my Scottish flatmates that it does in fact get better, that spring actually exists here in Scotland, but I have my doubts. I'm comforted to know that it's actually supposed to be colder in DC, though--and it doesn't surprise me. It isn't that Edinburgh's cold, per se. Today was the first day in like four that I could actually see my breath. It's just that the wind cuts through you and it's rained three or four times since I got here, so that's what? Three or four out of six days? Not that I mind rain; I like rain, and it makes the cobblestone gleam, but I'm tired of being cold.
I went in search of a Chinese take-away today, found one that was closed for Chinese New Year (which doesn't make much sense because New Year's next week, isn't it?) and went to Tesco's. It's the closest thing I've found to an American supermarket here, but the queue was astronomically long. I mentally slept through my class today--I think the only thing I remember about it was my teacher trashing Mel Gibson's portrayal of William Wallace in Braveheart. And being asked if I'd ever read Chaucer. The lecturer had this lilt and was pretty soft-spoken; it kind of set my mind wandering.
I'm reading the Oresteia trilogy for class tomorrow. It's really, exquisitely beautiful--I'm not sure I've ever read anything like it before. Greek theatre is so...visceral, and heartrending, and--dramatic. I can't think of any other way to describe it. If you ever get a chance, Robert Fagles' translation of Aeschylus is positively brilliant. I just wish I had that kind of talent.