Ah, the start of the new semester. The sun is out shining, my pens are smelling very ink-y, the parchment is crisp, and butterflies and birds are flying around my head tipping their top hats and tweeting a serenade at the magnificent scholar.

Well, okay, at the moment it's pissing down rain, I can't use inky pens because my stupid leftie-ness causes smudginess, the parchment hasn't been bought yet (don't you just feel sorry for those students who use unattractive, cheap stationary?), and there are certainly no butterflies or birds flying around this morning. There are, however, about a thousand geckos on my ceiling, and some ants devouring the cat food remnants. Sigh.

I'd probably sum up my feelings about returning to university as being one quarter anxious, one quarter excited, and one half over it. Actually, I probably should split that last half so that three quarters of it is "over it" and the last quarter being "relieved". But I was never very good at maths. Sigh, but I'm actually scared. I'm such a wuss. But I'm doing like, hard things this semester. Like, it hasn't even started yet, and already I have to come up with briefs and applications and organise meetings with supervisors and convenors and God knows what else. But you know, I'm like, smart and shit, so I'm sure I can deal with it decently. And then hopefully I will graduate, woot! And then I can move to Europe and... I don't know. Become a beggar and die of cholera in the bitter cold winter or something. Meh.

But this time of year is always inspiring for some reason. Like, I have unbelievably hot hair at the moment, and I've got my stubble growth-period down to a fine art. Oh, and I've totally started working out! I swim a k a day, and it's fucking exhausting! Actually it's not. It's fucking boring. How do like, fit people do it all day? No wonder they take drugs. But it's working, and I'm all fitter and better bodied and everything. So now I just have to work on my tan, and I'll be able to change that Gaydar profile to "defined", YES!!!! I'd totally have the tan covered, but they are building a stupid house next door so all the builders could see me from their scaffolding, and every time I get an opportunity to bake in the sun, the stupid tropical weather throws up some more rain. Sigh. It's like there is a higer power preventing me from melanoma. Thanks, God, but I need the brownness! You could have made me like, one sixteenth African or some shit.

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posted by Dawei at 8:48 am