Tuesday, 27 May 2014

A Start To Uni... Part One

This is Melissa's first post. Yay! But for some technical difficulties she cannot post it from her account, so for now we will post it from me.
I was so keen on my first day of prep that I woke up at 6am and had to watch some exercise show for an hour with creepy old chicks doing squats in yoga pants.
On my first day of high school I remember practically prancing to class, two calico bags full of copious amounts of stationary in either hand, thinned-out front fringe in disarray and oversized blazer flowing in the wind. I was (still am) the poster girl of teenage awkwardness.  Those were the days.

So, um, let’s just say that my first day of uni was not met by the same amount of enthusiasm on my part. I didn’t have the best start to my tertiary education. I didn’t really have the greatest start to 2014 actually.

Besides the whole post high school graduation ‘’shit, I’ve had the same mates for thirteen years, what the hell am I going to do when I don’t see them every day anymore?” feelings that were slowly but surely building up inside, I also got dumped around this time.
On Valentine’s day. 

I laugh now but it was a 10 month relationship and I didn’t want to break up, he did. It was no one’s fault but it sucked. Hard. I didn’t take it very well at all. You know what it’s like, first love. Or maybe you don’t… I don’t know. I just hope you never have to know what getting dumped feels like. Pretty shitty bullshit that business is.

So, being the masochistic weirdo that I am, I may or may not have spent a few weeks crying, watching every episode and crappy movie spinoff of Sex and the City and trawling Tumblr and Pinterest for inspirational/depressing quotes on breakups. I even watched the Notebook. Guy breaks up with girl but wants her back, she has an awesome life, meets another guy, goes back to the first guy who is so different from her and fights with her but she likes it and they’re actually happy and so in love so she picks him and dumps her fiancĂ© and then they have a bunch of kids and she gets Alzheimer’s and he writes in a notebook and reads to her and they dance and then she freaks out and then they die. Wtf. Rookie mistake on my part. And I guess I could excuse these types of behaviour as being perpetrated during my post-dump grace period.. Even if I did end up spending a day in the living room, singing Sinead O’Conners ‘Nothing Compares 2U’ at the top of my lungs whilst getting myself slowly drunk on Bacardi’s and Midori mixers I’d spiked with vodka.

I think this is what they call Rock Bottom. I’d hit it.
Fast forward less than a week and it was time for me to peel myself off that rock.
Uni orientation. Shit. Well actually, it was called Transition Day… Even the name pissed me off. Supposedly it's a day where you're supposed to make friends with people. Meet people. Urrggh. 

To the soundtrack of Helen Reddy’s ‘I Am Woman’, covered by the Sex and the City girls (I have no shame) I chucked on makeup for the first time in a while and somehow got myself on the 6:27am train (this, by the way, is a miraculous feat I am yet to recreate.)

Anyway, obviously I wasn’t exactly in the mood for the nightmare inducing awkwardness of ‘getting to know you’ activities one is sure to experience at orientations/conferences/camps/ any event where people over 40 are put in charge of young people and have to come up with FUN things to fill time. And awkwardness was exactly what I got.

(Read Part 2!)

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