Semester One = Done

As semester one draws to a close, I believe it's about time to reflect on my initial college experience. Over the past 3 months, I've witnessed the vast majority of the initially over-zealous, intensely studious folk around me crumble with exam stress and fret about whether they have chosen the right course, whilst binging on Reece's Pieces and ready meals. Oh and I'm one of those, by the way. College has hit hard, and we're all struggling to keep on its good side, but we stand united. There's nothing more comforting than hearing the words "I haven't started yet either" from a fellow student, or lying in bed missing your 10am, knowing your also-still-in-bed roommate is doing exactly the same. We thought this would be easy, now that the dreaded Leaving Cert has been conquered. It's the hardest thing you'll ever have to do, they say. College is a walk in the park after that nightmare, they tell us. Lies and deceit.

Let's take this one step at a time. Attendance for example. First few weeks - perfect, 'golden weeks' all round. After that, people start missing their 9ams because they were out the night before - I'm baffled and even appalled, I mean think of all the vital information they are missing out on!? Eventually a night out breaks my streak, and next lecture I realise I haven't missed anything much at all, no harm done. Then the essays and sleep deprivation kick in and we get a little lax on the 'golden week' idea. 12 weeks deep and there's only one person turning up our Irish language lab (not me), and the debate to go to a lecture or stay in bed or Christmas shop is a valid, heart-breaking one. Now those of you who don't go to college may judge us, but we know what we're doing. If a college student feels a wave over productivity coming on, and is so in the mood to make a start on that essay and get shit done - we know full well that this is a rare blessing, one which much be respected and rolled with, even if it means sacrificing some note-taking practice. And if it's one of those days when we really and truly can't drag our ass out of bed into the cold, ever-raining outside world without crying, we give ourselves that time to recuperate, mentally. In other words - we got this, we've been playing systems for years now, college is no different.

Except college is so different. Not even the course itself, but the very idea behind it. This is what we have chosen to do for the rest of our lives, like as a career... Or at least it's what we have committed to doing for 4 whole years of our valuable, unrefundable youth. So if we've made the wrong choice, we're to blame, and we're pretty much stuck here. Yes, yes, change of minds, I hear you say - but the deadlines for that kind of stuff is pretty early on and once they are gone, the deal is sealed, and short of dropping out and paying full fees to do something else (every mommy's dream, right?) we're sealed in tight. So we are all one by one coming to terms with the consequences of that decision, and eventually accepting and dealing with it, in as positive a light as we can muster.

Also, college is the place where straight A kids start to see the value in just passing - a concept which filled us with horror a few months back. One must bear in mind that it's a Trinity experience I am telling here, and that I spend my days surrounded by the contents of the extreme right of the bell-curve. You need to be smart to get in here - that's a given. But you need to work your little tucus off and possibly sell your soul to the devil to be one of the smartest of the smart kids (most of the time we can agree that having a vaguely active social (and/or sex) life is more important).

All of this, coupled with the actual experience of living away from home is pretty overwhelming, I'll admit. One never realises how costly it is to get around, or to feed oneself until they move out (parents, we now appreciate you raising us, but question why on earth you signed up to this in the first place #didyouchecktheexpirationdate?). Not to mention that the prospect of having to make dinner day in day out is frankly preposterous and I refuse to believe anyone actually goes through with it. Pasta is dinner - we have spoken. Don't underestimate its power to fill bellies in minutes.

With all of the above sounding quite on the ranting side of things, it's understandable to assume college is terrible and we all want to drop out, but that's not entirely true. These are the things we have all had to come to terms with, and grow accustomed to in the past few months. Valuable life lessons are being learned, yada, yada, yada, and we have our (almost) fair share of fun. And the most important thing of all: we get to claim the #studentlife as our own, an extension of ourselves, if you may, adding to our legacy.

Traumatic Injuries, Wrist Wraps, Paper Doll Mise, and Summer Sleep

Hello all, your favourite silly little lady is injured.

I remember the day well, like it was yesterday (which it was). I'll paint the scene for you. Picture silly little me being an amazing granddaughter to her grandpops, lifting crates and tyres from here to there for him. So there I am, lugging these monstrously heavy car-shoes, with my delicate lady-like wrists. Now these wrists may be dainty, but they've had their warlike hours.
*Flashback* Last year (ish) I attended Wing Chun Kung Fu lessons, and even invested in a punching bag, for home-time beating sessions, and a few weeks in, my sifu told me that all the little ladies had to wear wrist wraps nowadays, and that I ought to buy a pair. I did, like a good girl, but some of the pride that can be labelled 'foolish feminism' never let me wear them, or my boxing gloves. *Flashback ends*
      Long story short, now I have a dodgy wrist and a now-healed cyst on my knuckle. So back to my epic tale: whilst hauling these tremendous tyres around my garden, my dodgy wrist did something it likes to do every time it lifts heavy items, a form of protest, so to speak; it clicked. I didn't notice the pain for a while, but by the evening it was extremely painful to move, and achy in general. I also couldn't stop fidgeting and moving my left hand, since it's so accustomed to being an equal with my right hand, (note: I'm not ambidextrous, but I do use my left hand practically just as much as my right, except in writing, and my sifu thought I was left handed when I started training). So my left hand got jealous and wouldn't sit still, and in the end I turned to my old friend, Wrist Wrap (I have no picture to commemorate the experience, nor the times we shared, so my outline-y silly lady sketch will have to suffice, please ignore my skills, the sentiment remains). Wrist Wrap (I've lost his brother) had been neglected, and shoved under my wardrobe, and when I turned to him for help, despite his taunting, mocking and sneering (he's still sore that I boycotted him), he provided a very snug and supportive home for my little wristy.

Conclusion: It's not so bad anymore, but I'll take more care of Left Wrist in future.

I also had a go at recreating younger me's drawing style yesterday  (ignore my tapered finger, it's merely holding the wardrobe closed, and hiding the envelope containing mini me's clothes), and accidentally made paper dress up doll me, while attempting to make a cute little lady.
Therefore, the equation stands:

A Cute Little Lady = Me

Maths is on my side, le boif must be right. He has chosen wisely. 

I must say, if all that wasn't riveting enough for you, I've had the most eventful day. In fact, I even spent most of it being unconscious. Yes ladies and gentlemen, you know summer is here when all us lazy cat-like teenagers sleep in until 2pm. At about 3:30pm I decided it was time for breakfast, so I traipsed all the way next door, to le grandparents, to have a couple of lovely eggies. Ahhh, life is sweet.