Sunday 11:30.
Home, groggy and in fear of what the Dining Hall might offer today. Quick shower,
some tunes to get me going. No clean socks, no cool sneakers. Lunch is a mess
of people, chatting away about their, “hectic weekend bro...” Habitual
cigarette downstairs and back to res to tackle the afternoon with some series
or an unnecessarily long nap. My clothes smell like the stale grease in the
Dining Hall, plonked down on my bed, a friend comes knocking bearing a scrap of
paper. “
“I need to
read this to you, I found it pinned to my door!”
“Dear...
(for reasons of anonymity no name supplied)
Your
insensitivity to my abandonment issues has been noted. As someone who was
forgotten at the hospital by his parents after birth, I do not look kindly on
being left out.
I
hope you enjoyed your indulgent consumption of calories with the new apple of
your eye. I also hope you found a way to burn of those calories (know what I am
saying?). I, meanwhile, have been burning studying accounting in the library.
It is there where you may offer your apology.
Yours
Sincerely
Dick
Kestenbaum
The
previous apple of your eye.”
It has to be
noted that this is all in jest, but still. How on earth does someone come up
with this kind of stuff? Living with 30 other, testosterone gorillas might lead
to this state of mental delusion. Walking into the bathroom at 8 on a Saturday
morning is like walking in on some bizarre artwork made of human excrement. Vomit,
piss, goodness know what, on the floor, the basin, the toilet...
I hate this
place sometimes, but somehow it has become not quite home, but also not just a
place to lay a greasy, sweaty, beer stained cheek. Living in little matchboxes
Res becomes a place of perfect routine. Wake up. Groggy, hungry, where’s my
phone? Missed calls, nausea, coffee and here I sit rambling.
Procrastination
is King..!
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