As my dad drove away in his now ten tonne lighter Citroen Picasso, leaving me standing outside my new home, the only thought that passed through my mind was "Fuck."
I had left all my stuff in boxes upstairs in my room, and to put off the awkward meeting neighbors ordeal for just that little bit longer, I thought it best to unpack and try and make the place feel more like home.
But seriously, how long can it really take to put clothes in a wardrobe and books on a shelf?
There comes a time in your life when you just need to stop acting like such a pansy and start acting more like ... well, someone who doesn't hide in their large en suit bedroom to avoid awkward introductions.
So this pansy blossomed; socialized, got very drunk, went clubbing, made some friends and lived happily ever after.
Of course it's never that easy. Alcohol may be the best social lubricant there is... but a hangover is not.
By night, the freshers experience exceeds all expectations and everyone gets on like a house on fire; following the well known social equation of strangers + alcohol = best friends.
By day, being a fresher is lonely, a little awkward and all you want is for your mum to tuck you into bed while she makes you tuna pasta bake [insert other hangover curing food here] for dinner.
One weekly food shop for £10, a few conversations with people in the hallway about the night before and a long nap later, I'm sat here, in bed thinking I should probably eat something, or drink something ... Or at least go on a half-hearted quest to find people I think I know the name of.
Uni life aint no picnic, and I haven't even started lectures yet. I mean, is it even possible to meet and befriend 60 strangers in one night?
[Shout outs to the strangers who added me on Facebook or provided me with the internet or a bulb for my lamp. You're my faves]
So in conclusion. I'm on a fucking roller coaster, drinking green tea and eating socca, because apparently that's the kind of person I have chosen to be at uni.
Wish me luck.
Peace Out ♥
I had left all my stuff in boxes upstairs in my room, and to put off the awkward meeting neighbors ordeal for just that little bit longer, I thought it best to unpack and try and make the place feel more like home.
But seriously, how long can it really take to put clothes in a wardrobe and books on a shelf?
There comes a time in your life when you just need to stop acting like such a pansy and start acting more like ... well, someone who doesn't hide in their large en suit bedroom to avoid awkward introductions.
So this pansy blossomed; socialized, got very drunk, went clubbing, made some friends and lived happily ever after.
Of course it's never that easy. Alcohol may be the best social lubricant there is... but a hangover is not.
By night, the freshers experience exceeds all expectations and everyone gets on like a house on fire; following the well known social equation of strangers + alcohol = best friends.
By day, being a fresher is lonely, a little awkward and all you want is for your mum to tuck you into bed while she makes you tuna pasta bake [insert other hangover curing food here] for dinner.
One weekly food shop for £10, a few conversations with people in the hallway about the night before and a long nap later, I'm sat here, in bed thinking I should probably eat something, or drink something ... Or at least go on a half-hearted quest to find people I think I know the name of.
Uni life aint no picnic, and I haven't even started lectures yet. I mean, is it even possible to meet and befriend 60 strangers in one night?
[Shout outs to the strangers who added me on Facebook or provided me with the internet or a bulb for my lamp. You're my faves]
So in conclusion. I'm on a fucking roller coaster, drinking green tea and eating socca, because apparently that's the kind of person I have chosen to be at uni.
Wish me luck.
Peace Out ♥
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