01.16.03
A rasberry berret
One of the good things about a new term is the chance to wrong your mistakes. Pull up those grades, talk to that boy, go to the gym, whatever. I always kind of secretly hope for a little bout of new drama, a new crush, interesting classes.
This year, four of my five classes are full years. I didn't really have much choice. Most Political Science classes are full years, and I'm taking three. And my English which is the last requirement to have my minor out of the way is also full year. I like full years because you get to know the prof, and they get to know you, and you become more confortable with the people in your class.
The last two weeks, I've had the blues. I'm tired and stressed already. And something's been off. I'm tired of the same bars, of the same class schedule, of the same expectations from the same people. I thought there might be a crush this term, I thought there might be relevations. I thought there might be more than the exact same thing there was last term. There's not even my marks to worry about, this is the first year of my life where I was happy with all of them.
Winter is magic, and I love the excitement of fresh falling snow. Of playing rugby outside until your hands pass from hurting to numb they are so cold. I like running in the park, I like feeling stronger at the gym. I like being happy with myself and the work I did last term.
There is a passport application sitting on my desk, half filled out. There's also one for a Bursary, waiting to be dealt with tomorrow. There's a pile of papers waiting to be hole-punched so I can fasten them into my binders. There's a growing pile of books that haven't been read, a list of French Vocabulary waiting to be translated, and a DVD plaer inside of my computer begging to be tested out.
There's a boy who's called me three times, there's a crowd waiting to go to the pub, there's unfinished business all over the place here, and for some reason, I just can't motivate myself to do anything but sit here and stare at nothing.
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