Exhaustion & Responsibility, or: "I'm like a proud parent!"

If you're friends with me on Facebook - and admittedly the likelihood is astronomical considering Facebook is practically my only avenue for advertisement - it won't come as a surprise to you when I say that yes, this year I'm a residence don with my university.  Fact: I've had a number of people, either teammates or otherwise, tell me that all they've seen on their newsfeed has been more uploads of pictures of me, and while I'm sorry I can say 1. they're encapsulating the fun and the friends I've made since mid-August over training and 2. I look very good in them so bask in my rugged handsomeness.  As much as it seems like overload, I think I'm still just so intoxicated by enthusiasm about my new job that I'm taking it upon myself to share it at any given moment.  (including less-than-receptive cashiers)

All the excitement taken into account, it still feels weird to actually be a don; surreal, maybe.  For instance last night was my first don-on-duty shift, and if you're unfamiliar with what that means, it's basically a period from 5pm until 9am the next morning where I'm designated as the first responder to any emergencies that might arise in my area (townhouses) whether it be mastering lock-outs or attending to noise complaints and - knock on wood I won't ever have to deal with it, cause I didn't last night - breaking up social gatherings.  Last night's shift proved stressful, so much so that - and I'm not happy with myself for doing so - I let the stress and frustration overtake me.  Perhaps it was the overload of new responsibility or perhaps it was due to the hiccups that prevented attaining my idea of a flawless duty shift, but regardless, I survived.  Only one duty phone call regarding a work order, luckily no calls throughout the night as I slept (but for whatever reason the phone didn't receive any messages.. until it received all messages at 5am going off like a bomb which scared the living daylights out of me.  The delirious Matt literally falling onto the floor in shock would've been a funny sight to see, I bet you), no wild animals sighted, and a slew of situations involving approaching students who might've been drinking and assuring they were having a nice night; so good, overall.  And yet, it's still so surreal.  To think that, technically, I'm working even right now as my students' resource is bizarre to me; I have yet to accept that I'll be working full time here on campus all the while remaining a student, too.

And that's something that has scared me in a sense: I've thought of nothing but this job and its responsibilities and excitements for the past three weeks that I've literally forgotten about being a fourth year university student, and crap, that means I'm graduating at the end of this year.  Syllabi are slowly appearing online and it's becoming a scary reality to me that I have six courses first semester, the semester that kicks off in now four days, all courses highly intensive in terms of reading and writing.  The prospect of challenging my time management and stress control (what with balancing being a don and being a student) is intriguing to me, but I know at the end of the day, I'm a student first.  That isn't to say I'm going to disregard my don responsibilities, obviously.  I suppose I should stop wasting my few days off and start putting don-related ideas into practice so that my outlook might be a little less weighted down come Monday, come midterms, or come the inevitable crack in my mentality that usually happens around the last few weeks of a semester.  I have ideas about what I'd like to provide for my community in the form of programming (aha, programming! either active or passive, but always with an intended outcome of learning), but it's a matter of setting these gears into motion and reaping the benefit.

Ah, my students.  That's something else that nearly baffles me: I have students.  I've met the majority of them already over the residence orientation this past weekend, and I'm already feeling somewhat confident with their faces and names.  Over just forty-eight hours I could note a marked change in comfort; the first day brought about nerves, and rightfully so, as I doubt I would be able to function without nerves within hours of moving out on my own for the first time.  Come the second community meeting - fingers crossed they went well, by the way; I feel they did, cause they're laughing at my jokes and had fun playing the games - I could see a higher willingness to speak up or participate, though I know total comfort has yet to come.  It gives me this inflated feeling of pride to think about my role this year, without sounding pretentious or presumptuous.  I'm excited to provide for my students, and I can't wait to see the things they provide for me from the experience, too.  I make jokes about seeming like a proud parent, and it's funny that I already think that considering I've had just mere days with my students; I can flashforward to the end of the year and can see me surrounded by cats or something drastic to match my overly-gushy persona.

As I mentioned I'd been going nonstop up until this past Monday, and that might've been one of the biggest things that scared me most - the fact that training ended and literally a day later, boom, I was legitimately and officially a don.  I almost wish training never ended: yeah, I complained during, mostly because of the obscenely early mornings and long days (I suppose I should've spent more time sleeping, but whatever), but I can look backward fondly upon the things I took away from the many sessions I went through.  I find myself actively listening to even my best friends, and for the sake of a don mystique, I won't disclose how to actively listen; ha.  But along with the vast arsenal of knowledge I came away with, I also came away with something perhaps even greater: friends.  I miss living altogether in the same building, smiling to whoever you passed in the hall.  I think I'm honestly thankful for the chance to meet the amazing people that I did especially because I sometimes can admit to myself that I have great difficulties with carrying conversations or meeting people to begin with.  I lack a measure of confidence when it comes to socialization, but I'd say what lacks has at least been compensated for by what I took away from training, no doubt brought about by the nonstop interactive nature of the training set-up, anyways.  (that is: traveling everywhere all together, socials, living with training roommates who I miss already) It's always good to see your humour be well-received, too.

But with the benefit came the exhaustion, and therein lies the whiplash I've experienced with transitioning from trainee to full-fledged qualified.  There was so little time to even reflect on the areas in which I had doubts; but at the same time comes the teaching reiterated over and over throughout training that we aren't expected to be flawless - especially given that 75% of the team is freshly new this year - so it's something the perfectionist has to come to terms with.  Even in my first duty shift last night I can see the holes of imperfection that make me uneasy (that isn't to say, of course, I didn't do my job whatsoever, I just some minor questions) but it's done now.  I'm excited, though, for the chance to grow as a person, and to discover more things about myself that I might not even know are there currently.

I know that this year will yield some great things for me.  I've already met the great people, started on the (this is so cliched, I'm so sorry) great journey of actually being a don for my students (my students, weird still) that is sure to bring me some new stresses but mostly and certainly new opportunities, lessons, and fond memories.

A Curtain Call for Summer

It still feels like just yesterday was the first day of my five month long summer vacation.  It's strange to even say I've been off for five months; surely there's no way that I've been living at home since April 1st, I can barely even begin to fill the weeks with enough memories!  If anything it just goes to show how comfortable I got with living back at home with my family, with the home cooked meals and car keys up for grabs, but sitting on my bed in my new residence apartment feels just as familiar as if I pressed pause five months ago and only just hit resume.  Much like with last year the gravity of the independence and the move itself has yet to hit me; yeah, I had this strange knot in my stomach for the past week leading up to move-in day, today, and driving back toward campus with my mom had this surreal feeling hanging over it like a cloud, but it's as if my mind has settled for nothing less than immediate acceptance when it comes to the notion of hey, this is your life for the next eight months.  My mom getting a little teary eyed when saying goodbye (after a day-long mission back and forth first from the car to my room and then from my house to various stores to collect what I'd forgotten, no less) was a crack to my stone coldness to the situation, but knowing my parents need to come back here anyways to deliver two couches within the next two weeks makes the look ahead to my independent life a little less dreary.

And yet, at the same time, even just moving in to the empty unit (which will remain empty aside from me for the next two days, I believe) brought about this excitement that I never had last year.  Maybe it's because my two-person apartment style residence layout is simply huge, and it's exciting to know that this year I'll have couches an a TV and my PS3 so that I won't have to hole up in my room 24/7; maybe it's because the walls are actually painted blues and greens instead of the apathetic whites of last year, or that the carpeted floors will hide my grimy footprints a lot better than last year's hardwood; or maybe, definitely, and this is about as candid as I want to get, I know I'm not getting myself into a permanent situation with someone that yields no ounce of benefit.  I'm hoping this year will bring the possibility for open doors as opposed to locked ones, or the chance to steal the use of a common area away from dust, things I never had in what became like a prison, but that's that.  I know I have a huge undertaking with my new position of don up ahead, and that should keep me busy along with graduate school applications and classes and maintaining marks and gearing up for graduation and I don't want to think of any of these things anymore, not today.

What happened that was noteworthy this summer?  It was a good one, I know, at least in comparison to those of my memories.

Yeah, I broke my foot.  Yeah, I went to Florida.  No need to rehash that.  (horrible and amazing, respectively)

I racked up more hours at work this summer than I have in all the years I've worked there combined.  As a result, my feet hurt a lot more, my back from standing, my cheeks from pressing on the smile to serve customer after customer, but the influx of shifts brought two happy things: one, fat paychecks, and two, time enough to actually get to know the people I worked with and find a damn good time while working with them.  It's inherently human to complain about your job, but I can at least say mine wasn't the worst thing in the world.  I do wish I could've gone back to earn some extra money after my vacation, but the foot dictates what I can and cannot do so in the end I enjoyed my two weeks of nothing before moving, anyways.

Really, there was nothing else out of the ordinary.  As usual it was fantastic to be surrounded by your best friends again, and of course being with friends brought about the best nights out to bars, to the movies more times than any human should go within a set amount of months, to an empty laser tag arena or just to a familiar basement to knock back some drinks.  I'm stuck in a cliche rut when I go on about blah blah blah so happy I have great friends, but I am and I do, and I'm happy that friendships only got stronger and I got the chance to be around other people a lot more to get closer to them, too.  Maybe that's why I was almost reluctant to move back on campus so quickly - I did get comfortable with the people padding my social circle around me, and while it's sad to know that the distance between me and any given person will only get greater from here on out, I know I'm in for new friends and new experiences this year given the circumstances of my job.  And getting back into a groove with the friends here (on account of living on the same campus or close nearby) is a great thing, too.

The biggest thing I'll miss from the world's longest summer vacation will be the lack of stress.  Ahead of me comes all of those things I've already listed off that makes me sweat a little bit more, and I know the next few weeks of nonstop training for my job will be strenuous.  (as much as it's sure to be fun, though) What makes it a little worse is knowing that there's no time to breathe once training is up: I'm going to plunge right into going back to class and turning in assignments while I need to do my job as best as I can.  See, and summer's not like that - summer's waking up after noon and showering hours later before you sit around and do nothing until a friend asks you if you want to drink a lot and go someplace.  No deadlines.

Like I said, though, this move feels a lot different than last year's.  Maybe it's because I know this year will be amazing.  But for now, I'll say goodbye to my old friend summer.

This is the end

If you were to define vegetable as you would when describing an incredibly lazy and immobile individual, you might just say "Matt" to get the point across.  My lethargy today has been fueled by starting back at work yesterday, and while it sounds petty, after eight hours my back ached, my legs burned, and my feet, stuffed into brand new shoes which I've found to be tight and without any support whatsoever, killed.  I act like I have the toughest job in the world - I certainly do not - but in comparison to sitting around for a month and not actually doing anything, working was an abrupt shift.  And that brings us to today, where I refuse to get up from the spot I've dug myself in the couch even though I'm hungry, the phone has rung a handful of times, and the remote for the TV is nowhere to be seen.

(worth mentioning: I think I'm glad to be back to work.  I hit a number I never wanted to hit in my bank account back in January, a number I set out to never fall below, and since that failure I've essentially matched everything I spent in first semester to put me way below that sadness number; in that sense knowing I have twenty-two hours this week [as well as promise from my boss/the schedule makers to give me plenty of hours] puts me at ease and hopefully that balance will grow again.  A lot of my coworkers were glad to see me return, and I was similarly glad to meet the new ones, and within seconds my fears about not remembering codes or procedures or being lost in a newly renovated store vanished and I became this scary smiling forcibly upbeat Matt to customers that I hope you'll never meet)

On Wednesday I registered for my last? year of university.  And I say last? because today brought about this newfound fuckery which has made me obscenely stressed out currently, and given that I refuse to move, do anything, or think, I'm fixating on this new wrinkle of my upcoming year.

Here's the basics: I'm majoring in English.  Check.  At my school the English major program involves at least 7.0 credits, at least two at the 300-level (or higher), and it involves five subcategories within as breadth requirements.  Going into my fourth year, I have 5.5, so that left me with picking Contemporary American Literature, a full year course, and something called Literature and Exile which is literally the only thing that fits into my schedule, so I'll suck it up for a semester.  One of my minors, Professional Writing & Communication, is beyond straightforward: one half credit, a 200-level introductory course, then free reign to fill 3.5 credits with higher level writing courses or courses deemed 'writing intensive,' but to get around that I'm just taking five writing courses (I have 1.5 credits already) just to round out the minor.

That leaves my last minor, Cinema Studies, which brings about the worst problems.  I have 1.5 credits left to complete for this, so it might seem like it's easy.  The problems with this minor are as such: firstly, since I've been a part of it, it's been changing every year, with courses and prerequisites and requirements undergoing alterations; second, the minor is a big umbrella over a ton of courses, so there's only a select few that are officially given the CIN- tag - instead, you might take courses like Italian Cinema (officially part of the Italian program), or French, or even Drama as I will be this year, etc; third, of the only seven courses offered this upcoming year that will count towards the minor, three overlap, one isn't offered in English, and one is at a higher level where I don't have prerequisites.  Essentially, I'm fucked.

What I ended up figuring out was I'd take three, all half courses, the only three that don't overlap with one another: a Cinema course, a Drama course called From Stage to Screen (awesome!), and a secondary French Cinema course that builds upon the one I've already taken this year.  I am not exaggerating: these three are the only three that work, both with my schedule and with each other.  Well, looks like French Cinema is now only offered in French.  [insert one big 'eff you' to the French here] Upon this horrible discovery I've sent off an email to the program coordinator asking to be put into the 400-level course which thankfully doesn't overlap with anything else, but my issue is of course I don't have the courses needed to take it.  If I don't get into that class, then I'm royally screwed, and I'll have to return for another semester to obtain the final half credit I'll end up being short.  Fingers crossed this professor takes pity - after all, the course description itself does say permission of instructor will count - but I'm fairly certain the email I wrote was pitiful and therefore I'll be staying away from my email account for a little while.

(I don't know why I get this anxiety about sending emails, but I do, and I always have; I avoid that (1) for as long as I can because I think, for some reason, I'm being yelled at, or judged.  Or targeted for assassination)

This got me thinking about my future.  My plan, for as long as I can remember, was to be completely finished with my undergraduate degree in four years, and recently I've decided I will be continuing onto a graduate program (granted I get in, knock on wood) after that.  To come back for another year to take just one class will absolutely kill me; it'll throw a wrench in my plan, not to mention I'll probably be forever pissed off.  I guess, though, if I end up failing my G test until my license expires, my possible return to school will coincide with my newly stunted driver's license, so I'll just be this massive mesh of delay.  Because I've forced myself to be slightly optimistic, I thought that if I were to have to return, I could switch into the English specialist program (rather than major), which would involve taking three more credits - that would keep me busy, and make my time worthwhile.

To be perfectly honest, when I began writing this I fully intended this post to be some sort of future philosophy about what I could see myself doing with my life in five years: graduate school, maybe further; traveling?; moving out permanently, maybe; and as much as I planned to write about all that, I also figured that I might talk about how excited I actually am to return to school and to have the unmatchable experience of being a residence don and all that, but this new hiccup with my courses, inevitable as it was, has put me in a horrible funk.

At least I'm seeing The Avengers tonight.*


*without a university degree, or a full license.

Some sort of existence

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.

Not dead yet

My first full week of living alone has come and gone and I'm still alive!

It still really hasn't hit me that I moved out, and at this point, I doubt it ever will.  Everything just feels so natural that the jarring change of circumstances never affected me at all; even thinking to myself, "I don't live at home," doesn't bother me.  Time has flown as much as it's crawled by: looking back at the week, it went by rather quickly, but remembering times throughout the week where I was shocked by how little time has passed reminds me that time is in super slomo, too.  I have all the time in the world, and while it gets away from me - take for instance this afternoon where all I did was do my readings for three classes then read some The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (which is fantastic) and then bam it's now after 6 - it still feels so slow.

All of my classes have started up, and following a few last minute schedule changes (involving a less-than-desirable English course I was enrolled in being dropped out of severe disinterest in the subject and fear of the professor who is allegedly a hard ass), I've settled into my schedule.  (I still can't remember it at all, though, and I have to write down room numbers on my hand every day) I found a common trend amongst all of my classes is that I expected much more from all of them, as all sort of underwhelm me even now as I look just above my laptop monitor to the six course syllabi I have tacked up on my desk's bulletin board.  I feel like attending all of these classes will be a drag, no doubt a result of iffy content (Postcolonial and Transnational Discourses - I mean, what the fuck is that?  Taking it to fill a requirement) or unimpressive (thus far) professors (like a creepy old man for my writing class or a 40-year-old Snooki for my cinema class) or rather frightening material (I did the readings for my Rhetoric class and woosh, they went entirely over my head).  Either way I know I'll survive the year.

Aside from my classes, I'm actually going to the gym, whose membership is included in my tuition and who is, physically, gorgeous - it's state of the art.  Somehow, additionally, I'm still alive foodwise, and I haven't yet found myself starving even though I eat considerably less than what I did at home.

Well, anyways.  I'm sure the stress levels are bound to mount like never before now that all of my classes have progressed from the introductory blather to actual course content.  It won't be long before I'll be writing essays or studying for midterms, but in that sense, it won't be long before it's Thanksgiving or Christmas.  At least now I know I can't accidentally kill myself through my sudden independence.

Flown the coop

Today, I officially moved into residence on-campus at my university for the first time.  After two years of my parents' persistent denials - okay, one; they refused me residence for first year and for second year time just passed to the point where I thought to myself, well, shit, I guess I'm living at home again - I've packed up my obscenely large wardrobe and carefully selected favourite movies and to-be-read books (that process was brutal) and settled into a two-bedroom apartment-style flat with my roommate (weird, saying "roommate") Steph.

It never really hit me that I moved out.  Sure, a week ago, the stresses of moving began to creep up, but I became so accustomed to the idea through constantly thinking of what I needed to bring and pack and buy that come this morning when I woke up in my own bed for the last time I was nearly unfazed by my relocation.  Now that I'm here, I still haven't become attentive to the gravity of everything; going out to eat at the cafeteria felt like any other school day eating there; the buildings all seem familiar and I'm eager to get back to class.  I think, if ever a time for an emotional breakdown, it'll come when I turn in to bed tonight or wake up in the morning to think to myself, yeah, I live here now.

My parents, on the other hand, have felt it.  My mom was mostly good in the days leading up to today, but sentimentality came over when she'd say things like "I'll miss you at the dinner table" or "in a week you won't be here."  She held it together when moving my stuff in, but when it came time to our goodbyes, I could tell she was fighting back tears.  My aunt later informed me through text message that my mom is an absolute mess (most of my mom's side was at my house today for a family function this afternoon once I was gone) - so just break my heart - and that my grandmother also cried a lot and that whenever someone looks into my empty room it's sad.  I hope that whenever I visit - which, really, might be often, given that I live thirty minutes away and that the months from September to March are packed with almost all family birthdays and major holidays - the "pain" of my not living at home doesn't revisit.

My move-in day was somewhat strenuous.  I'd never done it before so naturally the proceedings being unknown to me gave me a bit of anxiety.  Upon arrival and back-breaking unloading of my two (yeah, we took two) cars, we came to realize the place is a damn dirty MESS.  On the upside, though, the place is pretty big, although the lack of furniture in the living room and ominous echo due to emptiness is less than ideal.  Steph and I spent the better part of the entire afternoon washing every single surface in the place and washing the floors - the amount of dirt on the Swiffer pads was absolutely disgusting - and it didn't help that it was a fairly hot day and that we don't have air conditioning.  Seriously?  We did a damn good job, though:

By the time I exhausted myself I had to tackle my own room, which began looking a bit like this:

And now:

A little bit of Gaga to reside over my bed

..okay, the amount of Gaga in this picture is a bit much, but note the amount of books
that I'm crazy enough to think I'll be able to read on top of going to class.

Naturally.

I'm pretty excited for the upcoming year.  Call me crazy but I truly miss going to class (despite how much I complain about it while in class), and the change of pace and fresh new upcoming courses is somewhat exciting to me.  I'm sure actually living on-campus - and not having to wake up three hours in advance to travel all the way to my school just to attend one class - will be blast.

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.

I'd rather take O.W.L.s

Despite my ignorant bliss of having time off from school, I know that my exams are looming just around the corner; I've pushed off studying for them as much as possible, opting to play the Sims on my computer or read the entire series of Harry Potter (I'm nearly through with Prisoner of Azkaban).  It's now Tuesday, and my first is on Thursday, and I know that I can't avoid it any longer.

I have three spread out over five days - one day on, one day off, until I'm finally finished by 3pm on Monday afternoon.  I'd consider myself very lucky that my first semester wrapped up so quickly, as I sit back and heckle my friends who have exams up until Christmas (I'm kidding); my happiness is soon dwindled when I know that I return to class on January 3rd.  That sucks.

As per usual, I'm going into exams - specifically, only one this time - with the fear of failing a class.  I won't, I never have and I never will, but the fact that everything I do for BIO206 ends up falling short gives me little hope for the final exam.  I can't win with that class; so much impossible detail for even more impossible expectations.  I calculated that I only need a 25% on the final to pass, and that's doable, although I'd love it if I came out with something that RESEMBLES a respectable mark.

But, for the first time, I'm actually going into exams with security.  I know I can bomb my Science Fiction exam and still come out with a high 60 - even though I'd have to write in a different language or be completely incoherent to fail that exam.  It's nice knowing that extreme amounts of effort actually do pay off.  This just serves as yet another reminder that my strengths are completely in the realm of English and that I am where I should be.

At this rate, time has been flying already; before I know it, it'll be Monday afternoon, and I can resume my status as lazy lazy lazy for another three weeks.

The wind and I aren't friends

Today was my first day back.

I actually enjoyed it.  I found myself on the train actually MISSING it, traveling and passing by the familiar buildings and landmarks.  I missed the fury I usually have with Mississauga Transit, and today was no exception; the damn city has the strangest times for buses, none of which line up with trains or are convenient whatsoever, so I found myself waiting a good thirty minutes before a bus rolled into the station. (not to mention the extra ten when the driver got out and went I don't know where.  THAT'S NICE.  Now drive me to school)  I missed the atmosphere; I missed walking around and smiling and waving at the faces that reminded me of last year.  I couldn't stop myself and I caved into buying a Booster Juice.  Juice goodness.

I only had one class today (sat in for an extra one, in addition), Cinema Studies, and I found myself actually interested, a feeling unfamiliar given the classes I had first year.  We'll see how my other classes go tomorrow, and the day after.

We'll also see if my fresh relief to be back at school will fade come tomorrow, as I have class until 7; or if it does survive tomorrow, it won't Thursday, with class until 8.  I can't wait until I sit around for 50 minutes given the stupidity of the train times.  Faaantastic.