week 1: i'm lying in bed. my duvet is sodden with the scent of aromatic wine which, i deduce, can only have been spilt this time last week. i come to the conclusion that it's only a matter of time before i suffer "death by tinned peaches". you know things are bad when, by week 2, over-dosing on pro plus can't even keep you awake anymore, and i'm counting the days until i can just go home. somehow, i always find a way of convincing myself that my essay will do itself, and somehow, i know that no matter how hard i try, i will NEVER succeed. by week 3, you KNOW you need to get out, but the furthest you ever get is the student bar (see reaction above) before deciding to return to your room, and collapsing like the drunken mess you really are.
lectures? what are they? and has ANYONE ever been into the faculty library?! WHERE IS the faculty library?! i feel safer in my room. in that place where time both wastes away and stands still, simultaneously. and before you know it, it's the dreaded "week 5" and people tell you that you are supposed to be depressed. you panic because you're not depressed. you try really hard to become depressed. then by week 6, it's ALL TOO MUCH.
week 8: when returning to your motherland is imminent, you realise you will miss hearing people have sex at 2am nextdoor, and you realise that the imposing sound of the fan in the bathroom "lulls" you to sleep, rather than keeps you awake, and you realise that life isn't as depressing as you thought it had been for the previous 8 weeks. welcome to a term at cambridge.
