Sydney Life

The first week of uni, like any typical 'first', is generally a disappointment. (Yeah, you know what kinds of 'firsts' I mean...we don't need to draw pictures...)

My first week of my fourth year (seventh semester, going strong!) has been just that. I'm sorry. You want to hear how great I feel to be back on the unicycle (to use a Brendon-ism), how inspired I am to start again, and how hard I've been studying.

If you expected all this, then I'm afraid, much like my first week, this post will be a slice from the Let-Me-Down pie...

The Festival of Disillusionment began on Monday afternoon, when I met with my thesis supervisor.

I arrived with my books in hand, folder neatly organised a la Year 12 and ideas aplenty.

Unfortunately, I didn't bring a clear outline of what I expected a thesis to look like. Apparently, this thing has to have chapters! Chapters? It doesn't even have WORDS yet....how can it have chapters?

Then, the second blow. Bigger this time, more impact.

"I think we should look at having a draft finished by May...how does that sound?"

How does that sound? I'll tell you how it sounds - it sounds like the resounding snap of my very thin thread of sanity.

Is she talking about the same "May" I know and love? The May of my birthday? The May which is two months away??? Or is there another, nicer, LATER May that I'm not aware of?

If any of you have a parent who owns/manages/works at/lives near a pharmaceutical company, please let me know. Remember that time Jessie took caffeine pills on Saved by the Bell and stayed up all week to study for the big maths test and audition for the girls' band and work at the diner? I think that served as a lesson to us all that drugs aren't as bad as those conservatives say. Especially when we're using them for the greater good: ie our uni marks.

And then of course, is the second-most embarrassing thing to happen to me this week. (The first is too embarrassing to share with, potentially, thousands of people. Everyone who went to dinner last night will know. Anyone else, it's better that you don't.)

But I digress.

The second-most embarrassing event of my week occurred today, walking over the Footbridge to Glebe. I was with the little girl I babysit, trying to negotiate pushing a pram down the stairs (let me just say, this pram is the 4WD of prams. It is not to be reckoned with.) As I was contemplating blindfolding myself and going for broke, the boy I tried (unsuccessfully) to chat up on Saturday night sauntered past. (Yes, literally, sauntered. He has this way of walking so casually, so effortlessly, it's sexy....sorry, I digress again.)

Being the nice person I'm pretty sure he is, he helped me down the stairs and we had a bit of a chat. This all would have been fine, and I would have been glad of the chance to see him again, but for the fact that I was wearing shorts I have had since Year Nine camp (they weren't cool then, they ain't cool now) and this misshapen, faded French Connection t-shirt, complete with slicked-back ponytail and no make-up. Why is it that on days I frock up, the only male I see is Ralph, and on the days I look more like Courteney Love than Courteney Cox, I see hot boys?

Anyway, perhaps I'm over-exaggerating. My stars for the week did predict a tendency to focus on drama. Who knows?

Right now I'm trying to pick out the good things: the awesome gnocchi I had last night (with even better company...but sadly, not Mr. Saturday Night), the new pair of shoes I bought for $4 at an op-shop that are pure style and of course, the start of uni. It is exciting to see the campus alive again, even if the initial exuberance only lasts a few days...

DISCLAIMER: Obviously I do not condone the use of drugs. Really. As I say to most people upon meeting them the first time, at least 97% of what I say is tongue-in-cheek. The other 3% is my 'serious side' - the side with horn-rimmed glasses and tweed cardigans....