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March 18, 2013 | by  | in Opinion |
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Secret Diary of Officious First-Year

2: Melancholy, exhaustion.

I lie alone, staring out through a drizzle-speckled window at a vile Wellington morning. The window is wide open, yet the radiator is on full, in a cunning tactic to maintain the constant temperature of my Weir House room. The Generation Zero poster Blu-tacked to my wall flutters gently in the breeze. I pull myself from my goose-down cesspit of misery, and wander begrudgingly down the hallway for the shower to wake me from my 11am exhaustion.

Stepping into the cubicle, my foot lands firmly on the bathmat, strewn casually across the floor by the previous occupant. Cold soapy water oozes out of it, the body-washing residue of the earlier few. How inconsiderate! I reflect on the miserable situation awhile in the lukewarm water before returning to my room. I carefully leave the bathmat as i found it, so as to spite those who left it in such a state in the first place. Nor can I be bothered hanging it up.

I’m sick, you see. Sick as a dog. The doctor even told me so, at Mauri ora (as my politically correct friends like to call it). She said to me that I should have plenty of time to myself in my room, not to overwork myself, and spend some time getting over an acute case of homesickness. Disability services even offered to deliver me by van to my classes if I like. Very kind of them. There’s only room for one, so the boy on crutches has to wait in the rain. There’s also a big sign on my door saying: “ROOM IN ISOLATION, DO NOT ENTER.” I wouldn’t want to give my homesickness to anyone.

My ‘fresher five’ belly rumbles. Breakfast ended at the hellishly early time of 9.30, so tragically, I missed it. Oh, for shame! I should have eaten more rice last night at dinner, but i couldn’t be bothered— grabbing Maccas was way easier.

I pop downstairs to pick up the daily care package from my mum, and sit on my bed to further mull my misery over. Oh to be at home, where breakfast in bed gets delivered to sick children when it suits them. I look longingly out the window, and gently nurse my beleaguered body back to a well-deserved sleep.

Keep me company on twitter: @GMo4Lyf

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