13. An Endless Endeavour

The university's library was quiet this afternoon; it was nice. I'd just visited London King's College library to pick some books on reserve and then made my over to University College London to fetch some more. Not every university library had all of what I needed, so I had to get creative and do some searching. Luckily for me, as a Masters student, I was able to take out every book I need as a visiting student. I'd have to return them before I went back to Belgium.

"Let's see, Homeric Hymns….. Homeric Hymns….." I was in the Ancient Greek literature section to be specific. I had two overarching passions in my life, if you exclude my love of good street food: history and historical literature. My Masters was a combination of the two, studying literature from medieval Western continental Europe. To be precise, I'm currently researching Troubadour love poetry. Yes, I know; the irony is not lost on me. Me- someone who's never been in love before, reading an endless stream of poetry on and about love. Trust me, their concept of "love" is very different than what we consider it today…. and if I'm being honest, I think I like their version better.

But that wasn't my focus today. Since the subject of research for the PhD application was women in medieval lyrical literature, I thought I might start way waaaaaay back with the poems of Ancient Greece. I was already quite familiar with Ancient Greek literature, having read- and owning copies of- the Iliad, the Odyssey, all the great poets, and of course Plato's dialogues and some Aristotle for good measure. In short, I already knew where to start looking, and my first hymn would be Homer's Hymn to Demeter. Great hymn; I'd recommend you'd read sometime.

Well, ok; maybe "great" isn't the right word to use here. You see, our modern conception of love is new- like very new. I don't think people realize just how new the love we see portrayed in movies and on tv is. There were thousands of years where people did not see marriage as having anything to with love in any way; cough, cough, the Troubadours. Not to mention it's still a view held by some individuals- like my father- but we won't get into that. The point is all these poems I read on love never depicts love in a way our modern sensibilities would recognize. Case in point, the marriage of Hades and Persephone.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the myth, Hades brokers a deal with Persephone's father, Zeus, to marry her. Zeus agrees and gives Hades the green light to take his daughter down to the underworld. Course no one mentioned any of this to Persephone- or her mother- so you can imagine her surprise and fear when Hades suddenly tears open the ground one day and drags Persephone down. In most retellings, this is known as "the abduction or kidnapping" of Persephone, though in reality it was just really an arranged marriage. What's kind of horrifying about this particular couple is that they were considerably the best, most functional when compared to like every other Greek god or goddess. Hades's taking Persephone against her will- maybe, sources vary here- doesn't make him the bad guy; every Ancient Greek man would understand why he did it and not see a problem with it. So Hades good, Zeus…. Well, you be the judge. And did I mention Hades was the full brother of both Persephone's parents? Talk about a family tree looking more like a tumble weed.

I wanted to start with this hymn because it's so well-known and a good jumping off point for exploring women's roles in literature, both at the time and to come during the Roman Empire Era and Early Middle Ages.

But I've been blathering on about this for way to long. What's important is I got my books and found a place to start on my research proposal. I somehow managed to shove all these books into my backpack and made my way back outside the library. Once in the nice spring sun again, I checked the time on my phone. Almost three o'clock- perfect! There was just enough time for me to sprint over to the University of London; they were having a guest lecture on Victorian agriculture at four and I really wanted to go. I told Anthony to pick me up after that.

The lecture hall was fuller than you'd think. Lots of people from the history and biology department; yes, some students did a combination of the two, studying the history of biology. In was in this beautiful old building, much like something you'd see out of Harry Potter. I sat somewhere near the middle so to get a good view of the white projector screen. Various audience members clambered in and quietly took their seats. There was some faint chit chat until the head of the history department came out to introduce this afternoon's guest speaker. Everyone was rather excited.

The lecture itself was brilliant. I learned a lot! Granted, it's nothing I've studied myself, but I found the topic interesting. Plus I just love attending guest lectures on well, anything and everything- history, philosophy, or English-related, that is. It was all going so well, until suddenly it wasn't. After the lecture proper, there was time for a round of questions. I didn't have any but stayed to listen to others.

Halfway through the questions though, literally out of nowhere these little sparkles began to appear here and there in my vision. Now for a normal person, this would be a problem; just the eyes adjusting or something. For me, however, it was a warning sign. I really got anxious when the stars disappeared, and my vision got a little hazy. The light-headedness was soon to follow- it wasn't that bad but I did feel a little dizzy. Not wanting to leave early, I decided to power through it and stay til the end of the lecture. But it wasn't a fun or particularly enjoyable experience. The whole time I tried to figure out what went wrong, which wouldn't have been so laborious if I wasn't light-headed. I hadn't eaten anything in over five hours, and the only thing I'd had today was a waffle with some Nutella and strawberries. That was around the time I finished my water bottle too….. And I hadn't had any extra salt today. My eyes shut as I brought my hand up to my pounding head. Yeah, I've screwed up.

As soon as the lecture hall was adjourned, I rushed as fast as I could- which truthfully wasn't that fast in my current condition- over to the refreshment table in the other wing. I drank three full cups of water immediately, then filled up one of those Styrofoam cups with boiling water from a cannister. Somewhat embarrassed, I snuck off to the bathroom with the cup in hand, trying to be discreet as possible. I never liked drinking this stuff in front of crowds.

The bathroom was beautifully decorated inside, complete with marble sinks, a couch, and sitting chairs. Despite being so lovely in here, it only had three stalls. I confirmed I was alone before setting the cup down and rummaging through my bag. "Come on, come on," there had to be at least half of one in here. My eyes lit up as I pulled out a beef bouillon cube, already cut in half and missing the other part. I took out some of those salt packets you get at MacDonalds as well.

What I did next may sound gross but I can't stand drinking pure salt water. I've tried and just can't do it. It took some time to find a form of salt I would drink, and that's when we started buying bouillon cubes. I put the whole cube into the cup, along with a packet of salt- though not the whole packet for it would tip my gage reflexes over the edge. After the bouillon cube and salt was dissolved, I picked up the cup. With a loud groan I shut my eyes and forced myself to drink it all. Ugh, god; I hated it. I hated it less that salt water alone, but I still didn't like it. This was the only way I could make myself drink salt, and even then it was hard. Not like I had much of a choice. The doctor told me two years ago either I increase my salt intake, or I'll have to start medication. So far, I've opted for the former. I'm already taking pills to stop my period, again all thanks to my stupid, stupid condition. I'd rather not take more medicine if I can help it.

My eyes reopened and I tossed away the cup. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. God, I looked pale; like sickly pale. Hopefully the salt and water takes care of that; I'll grab a bottle of water before I leave the university just in case. As I continued to stare at my reflection, this profound disappointment at myself set in. "Jesus, Daphne! You're twenty-four years old, this shouldn't be happening! Keep it together!" I yelled into the mirror frustrated. I usually did ok on a day-to-day basis at home; it's just when I get busy or go somewhere….. With a long, upset sigh, my gaze lowered to my hands, now clutching the edge of the countertop. One of my fingers twitched.

It's never going to get better. I'm just like Daddy; it's only to get worse with age. It never used to be this bad, and now I have to constantly monitor my symptoms. It's exhausting. And this is what happens if I ignore it or neglect it, even for an afternoon. It's all day, everyday…. until the day I die. Clearly, I still struggle to keep on top of it all the time, even at this age. My eyes narrowed a little in remembrance. "I can't let you become like me with your condition. It'll be your husband's job to ensure you don't." My hands balled into fists.

"I don't need a husband to keep an eye on me. I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself. I just… was a little forgetful today. It won't happen again, and if it does, that's life. I can't be perfect all the time," and I doubt whoever I marry could be either. I glanced back up to my reflection, hoping some colour would return to my cheeks before the end of my little daytrip today. I left the bathroom, nabbing another drink of water and going on a walk so to get my blood pumping. I felt much better by the time Anthony came to pick me up.

Course this is something I couldn't tell him about.