We'll still have the summer after all redux; or, the dreadful anxiety

Well, it's now officially September 1st.  Considering I choose to be ignorant to school's rapid approach, I'll just pretend it's still August 31st because I haven't gone to bed yet so technically it's still my Wednesday.  So suck it, time.

This summer has been a definite improvement over last summer despite a series of extremely unfortunate and sporadic events.  Technically, I treat this summer as the first where I was actually of a legal age to go out to bars and clubs and other grungy and unacceptable establishments - by that I mean last summer, although I was 19, only one other friend of mine was of age, so our drinking nights were still confined to basements and backyards as opposed to barstools; therefore, with all of my friends now at least 19 (I still weep for the loss of my teenage years and dreams), going out at night was actually an option.  Thursdays became a regular outing for karaoke at a sports bar.  Downtown was visited as much as possible despite my city's decision to make almost all bars 21+ to coincide with the 0.0 blood alcohol level restriction on drivers under 21.  The fact that I was able to actually go out for drinks was somewhat liberating while being constantly fun.

Aside from the frequent drunken outings, my summer passed without any massive highlights unlike last summer's where I saw Lady Gaga live or traveled to Costa Rica with my family.  I went on a camping trip with my friends for the weekend, but as I've said time and time again, I'm seriously not an outdoors person.  In place of epic day trips or vacations were days spent simply hanging out or wasting around watching all seven seasons of Grey's Anatomy.  (which I've now actually caught up on.  It's funny - now that I'm done I don't know what to do with my time) I would've liked to have traveled with my family, but nah, they didn't want to spend money on another trip this year, the other being Myrtle Beach on March Break which I wasn't there for and won't be yet again this year.  I would've liked to have gone to Canada's Wonderland - goddamn it, people! - but days off never seemed to be entirely synchronized.

Ah, work.  My job was a bit of a scheduling roller coaster over the summer.  My original plan at the beginning of my summer break was to get a second job, but my mind was changed in May when I got a fairly good amount of shifts - not too much as to give me a life, but enough to make a substantial contribution to my bank account.  The hours quickly faded away to my dismay, and following my sickness in August, I never quite went back.

Bronchitis.  I got bronchitis mid-August.  That week was harrowing, and honestly, I would've wanted sweet, sweet death if it wasn't for my dearly beloved Grey's.  Day after day of bad health standing still took an emotional toll on me, not having drive to even get up in the morning with the knowledge of still poor health.  Aside from that, I broke my knee.  I broke my goddamn knee.  I can't freaking believe it still.  Time to time I feel a slight tingle of pain on my right knee serving as a reminder that oh yeah, I did break my knee in May.  My weeks as a cripple were painful and disgusting.

Now that the summer's come to a close, I face the now familiar feeling of saying goodbye to my friends.  It's hard to grasp that in just four days - god, that made my stomach drop - the feeling I've gotten used to, the feeling of knowing my friends are around that I take for granted will be gone once more.  It's surreal, and it won't hit me until we're all moved away.  It takes adjusting, but I look forward to readjusting to it once more next summer, or even next winter break.

I think, though, the severity of the loss of comfort in friendship will be lessened - if not masked - by the jarring transition I'm stepping into in which I actually move out onto residence for the first time.  Again, the thought is like a punch in the gut; sitting at home in my last days, I can't stop myself from being overly dramatic and sentimental in thoughts like "huh, that's the last Wednesday morning I have living here" or "next week when I watch True Blood (OMGTRUEBLOODISINSANE) I won't be living here anymore so I won't have HBO."  My mom literally almost cries every time the topic of my moving out comes up, and honestly, if I didn't have dignity, I'd probably cry, too.  It's so strange, collecting things like my favourite books or movies or all of my clothes, or similarly going out and buying a set of dishes or a housecoat or a laundry hamper.  This is a very new feeling to me, and honestly, it scares the living hell out of me like nothing has before.  On the flip side, I'm eager to jump into something I've never experience, and my sheer terror has been coupled with a genuine yet cautious curiosity about how my life will unfold for the next year.  I'll be surrounded by those with expertise and I should hope they treat me as a noob with compassion.  Good god.  I'm moving out in four days.  (okay, three.. let me be ignorant and pretend it's still Wednesday!)

Aside from my moving anxieties which fail to be wrangled, I have a mixture of excitement and disdain for the resuming of class.  I miss going to class, I miss learning, but I'm sure if you talk to me in a week (god, in a week I won't be living here..) I'll speak differently.  Regardless, I'm slightly eager to get my reading lists and start writing papers again and I'm excited to finally stop attending classes I know I'm going to fail in.  (science)

Well, it was a fast four months, and I'm quite sad in its passing, but it was a good four months.  I hope the next eight will be spectacular.  Wish me luck.