This morning, I spent five fretful hours hovering somewhere between wakefulness and uncomfortable dreams; the geese were honking and squealing and squawking and their weird, shrill rhythms worked their way through my window and into my head as I fought to stay asleep past 8:30 (unsuccessfully). And at first I thought, “well, I really love my room, but maybe I wouldn’t mind not living on the river,” and then I thought, “well, I really love living on the river, so maybe I could do without the geese,” and then I realized that in just a few weeks I will miss even the stupid geese who torment me every morning. The sound of the river and the cold breeze through my window and my soft sheets and the raucous birds are all bound up in the delicious sensory experience that is Waking Up in Oxford for me, and this close to the end, I can’t even bear to wish away the annoyances.