The More Things Change

You know how this goes. I'm bored, I should be doing something else and yet some how I find myself with too much time on my hands.

Let's do this!

So let me tell you about the the first few months of university life. I had a tabula rasa, the chance to trick brand new people into believing that I was cool, funny and generally a joy to be around. Boy did I mess that one up.

I'll back up and give you some context. On the first day, the parents were there for a few hours, helping to unpack and whatnot, staving off the moment where they would have to leave their child in a foreign country with nothing but a bank card and a foot that he can fit in his mouth at any given time.

I went to the kitchen, the place various sources informed me that "all the best craic is had". Moving on pure faith I went in and introduced myself, all the while hoping the dark stain on my crotch was spreading slowly enough that no one noticed. Sitting there for around an hour, I realised that this was not my kitchen. I scooped my food from the incorrect fridge and ran to the other kitchen.

Now here's the funny thing. I had spent a year thinking of what to say to people. An entire year to invent the perfect set of words that would wow all of my would-be friends and show to them that this guy that had just walked in the door was going to be the most interesting and funny guy they would ever meet.

This all went down the toilet when I ran into the appropriate kitchen with an armful of assorted Tesco's own brand food items and a stupid grin on my face accompanied by the words "I've just spent the last hour in the wrong kitchen". I got a laugh and apparently tricked one of them into thinking I was cool, confident and an altogether carefree person.

So I at least got the tricking part down.

I also started swimming a lot more than I used to and so I accidentally led people to believe I was sporty. Who would have thought? I also became less uptight about my sleep. I mean I still have to have it at least once a night, but there are so many noises here that I just got used to it. Outside my window, there is a tree. Not just any tree. This tree was evidently planted by Lucifer, lord asshole of the damned because every, and I mean EVERY morning that tree comes alive with the unholy noise of a million crows cawing as one. Never before had I heard such a cacophonous din that made me so angry at a deep psychological level that I can no longer look at a dark feathered bird without clenching my fists.

Does that make me racist?

It's not just the crows. The radiator, for reasons I can't understand, makes a thunking noise at 6 am every morning. I discovered the secret to my blessed silence was to kick it. Hard. The clunk becomes a click. The click gets kicked. The click goes away...for a time. It always returns. But what the hell could be making that noise? Good God!

And then there's the fire alarms. This week there have been 6 fire alarms, most of them in the middle of the night or really early morning. Some funny funny bastards have been pulling the alarms with stupid regularity. Because, as we all know, pulling fire alarms is the funniest thing a person of low intelligence can do. In fact I'd go as far as to say it's ranked up there on the hilarity scale with drowning puppies and having to work for a living.

But I'm not bitter about it.

But as the title of this post suggests, there's a lot that has not changed. I still lift pennies whenever and wherever possible. If people have food they are throwing away because they don't think they'll eat it by the sell by date, you KNOW that I want in on that action. So I'm still a scrounger.

During secondary school at the start of every year I thought to myself "I'm going to really buckle down this year and work right from the get go". This was no different when I started uni 2 months ago. But if you look at my note books you can see just how quickly my notes move from "very detailed" to "quite detailed" to "bare bones" to "notes are gay". Classic work ethic for me.

I adapted to the new diet fairly well. I mean I could always make breakfast and lunch. The secrets of dinner time regularly confused and angered me. However pasta is so easy to make and its makes me feel like some sort of culinary super hero whenever I have the ingenuity to put bits of cooked sausage or bacon into it. My diet will always have pig. I can't always afford cow, but pig is easy to come by, thank the gods.

And on that note I think it's time for me to go and do this work I've been avoiding for quite some time. Wish me luck, or a swift and painless death. Or if you're feeling really generous, a non-fatal excuse as to why I don't have to do work.

The real world is going to kick the crap out of me and leave me a bloodied mess on the floor.