The End Of Summer

It’s that time of year again, people are buggering off in all directions to parts unknown (or known if you’re a returning student I suppose). I remain in Nottingham in the hopes that I’ll be able to work hard enough to get onto a master’s degree at the end of my course and still say sane.

We can all hope.

So I’m feeling slightly melancholy but I’ll be alright once I get used to it again, after all it’s going to be happening every year and I got used to it last year, although there’s another dimension to it now that might make staying at home a little less rewarding.

Last year I was worried about fitting in, this year I’m less worried about that despite being moved classes, I guess that I’ll regain that nervousness in twelve days when I go to induction.

So as much as I’d like to write about how stupid it is that the new health secretary is a homeopath I find myself musing on what’s going to happen in this strange zone between October and June, and wondering whether I need to set parental controls on my xbox to stop me turning into a complete hermit.

The end of summer always makes me feel a little strange and at the moment I’m not sure whether I welcome it or resent it. There’s a certain part of me that wants to be able to walk around in my coat and hope for snow but there’s another that would probably be most at home in a place with wet and dry seasons. Perhaps I’m just awkward, I know I come across that way.

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