If: 1. you are a Canadian university student (if that were the case you were likely referred to this post by my Facebook profile - am I a psychic?) and 2. you are currently still not back to school, kindly leave, because I hate you.
Indeed, I am regretfully back to the daily grind of class, although my schedule seems lighter despite my taking of six courses this semester. (that is, of course, aside from my Wednesdays as well, which I'm sure will soon revel in infamy considering that I have seven hours spread over four classes uninterrupted and will complain about it often) Perhaps it's due to the seemingly lowered work required of me: true, I now have two writing classes that require weekly assignments (assignments - essays included - take me a matter of hours, so they're no hassle), and yes, the entirety of my courses reside in the realm of humanities (meaning that the physical workload is less strenuous given that every course largely has one or two massive assignment), but I'd chalk it up to the absolute lack of required readings of my upcoming semester that I can foresee a disgusting amount of free time on my hands for the next few months. I've already filled the my week with my rewatching of Parks and Recreation, and saddle up before I report that I'm already nearly finished the third season and started only four days ago. Of course it was in part to my wavering health, but I have yet to reach that topic. Being back on residence is somewhat jarring; at least, moreso than when I moved here back in September. I deduct that's because this time, I knew exactly what I was coming back to, and having returned to the place that I love (home, duh) for the month of December, the not-so-great things about res life now stand out blatant against home comforts: no longer do I enjoy the meals prepared by my mother, no longer do the cleaning ladies barge into my room every other Tuesday while I'm still asleep and possibly hungover, and no longer am I somehow entangled in some sort of yelling match with any member of my family on a daily basis. Aaah, home. That isn't to say I don't enjoy residence, oh no: the opposite, surely. I like the independence. I like the reunions with the friends I actually missed. I like the time I have to myself, and my computer, and my Parks and Recreation DVDs. I like Pizza Pizza. I don't like, though, my lack of drive to cook for myself, the dastardly presence of dust and crumbs in my room, the knowledge that my best friends are miles away, select strained conversations, and my idiotic immune system's decision to take a vacation the moment I'm thrust back into an environment where thousands of people breathe their diseased breath over every surface and into every conceivable open space filled with air.
I moved Sunday night. I unpacked my things and settled in, crestfallen because I didn't pack pajamas - who does that. I went to three classes on Monday: French Cinema, taught by perhaps the dumbest woman I have ever encountered (class, how do I turn on this computer? Okay, how do I get this DVD to play?*); British Literature: Medieval to some other time period or something, which I haven't done readings for since October and whose hour has become somewhat farcical (the drawings all over my notes are golden. You may find many Lady Gagas and various Pokemon); and Italian Cinema, which I thoroughly enjoy because ayyy, I'm Italian. I promptly went to Pizza Pizza and purchased two slices because Pizza Pizza is my kryptonite and damnit, I'm hungry. (I also purchased a drink to which the woman said, "don't you need a second drink?" ..no, this is all for me) I watched the entire first season of Parks and Recreation. I went to bed with a strange feeling at the back of my throat. Then I woke up sick.
It's no secret I am not the healthiest person on the planet, disease related or otherwise. In fact, I've never been in absolute good health: recall, I broke my goddamn knee in May, and then I got bronchitis in August. It's a known fact now that in my life, the moment I'm in a foreign environment - and I use foreign loosely, obviously, because I count my university to be "foreign" to me in contrast to home and yes, it's still very much a Canadian university - I immediately get sick. Knock on wood, knock on wood. To nobody's surprise, least of all mine, I got sick the moment I'm back to school. It started off as just minor congestion on Tuesday, which is nothing a profuse amount of Vitamin C (I know it doesn't take affect but I'm a paranoid) and Kleenex couldn't fix to sustain me through my only class of the day. (The Graphic Novel. So cool. Will enjoy and will get a 90) And so commenced one of the worst nights of my life. My old friend Mister Fever knocked on my door and then punched me in the face. I got the upwards of two hours sleep combined that night, as I was constantly kept awake by my body's nearly schizophrenic temperature: I wore a sweater and socks and an extra blanket to compensate for my entire body's shivering even though I was sweating like a beast, and not a half an hour later I slept in a t-shirt and sweatpants without covers at all because I was too hot even though I knew I felt cold. Absolutely drained and now positively congested, I skipped two of my classes on Hell Wednesday, and my condition didn't brighten up through to Thursday, what with the serious lack of energy and constant sniffling and threat to collapse every time I stood up or general apathy towards food. I'm happy to now at least report that I'm almost all better, save for an occasional sneeze or a pesky booming and horrific cough which happens every time I laugh. (which has been often, given what I've been watching nonstop.. I really don't feel like typing its title or italicizing it again) I effectively infected a friend of mine - sorry (but it has been festering in my room) - and I'm sure I spread the cold around to many of my classmates, but after the dismal days I've had, I say: HA HA.
I look ahead to the hope of a prosperous semester. I know already in a week's time I'll be at a New Year's Eve party (huh? you say. Merely a redo) and a week after that I'll journey over to my bestie's place for mad hangs and chillz (and hopefully no bar ejections), so I've got that covered. As for my classes, I'm eager for most, though I sit in dread for some; I'm sure my positive outlook will be dashed away in a few weeks' time when the midterms and essays due before reading week roll around - what is it with every professor insisting that everything is due right before reading week? (okay, aside from the fact that it's quite literally midway through term..) They have a coalition against us - and I'll return to the cliche university student who whines about the workload and boasts about their misfortune on every social media faculty. But then again: is it weird to say I kinda miss writing essays?
*in a French accent. Naturally.