India Doyle: Getcha head in the game

Dum dum dummmm (or words of that melodramatic nature)! Term has started again. Within about twenty seconds my ‘second semester resolutions’ of working harder, eating better, going to the gym etc. had gone flying out of the window, as I’m sure (and hope) have everybody else’s. After all, it’s way more important to get ‘re-freshed’ (it’s a pun about having another freshers week, gedddit?) than to be hitting the library.

The most strenuous part about refreshing is re-adjusting to alcohol. It all started with a bang on Monday night, I made it out until 4 am – a record for my St Andrews nightlife – and I was feeling pretty confident as I went to bed. I didn’t even get Empire. I was sticking to my resolutions… kind of.

When an obnoxious postman rang on the door at nine am, however, I realised that life in the Bubble is not so easy to settle back in to. I could feel my liver shuddering, desperately trying to process the dregs of whatever I had been drinking the night before and my heart seemed to be pumping a hundred times faster than usual. I realised that ‘getting into the swing of things’ should be more about trying to up your tolerance level than reading in advance.

For September 2012, I advise heavy drinking from August.

On the work front (I know I know, it’s only Thursday but apparently third year is serious or something) things seem to be faring little better. The library has once again become an enemy fortress as opposed to my second home. If I was feeling especially grumpy, I would insert a shitty remark about the fact that the library now feels even more like a prison given the ‘new and improved’ entrance and exit system, but I’m not that kind of gal. I don’t have much advice, and let’s be honest who’s going to take it if I did, about how to get back into work. Perhaps try and remember the late nights in Butts Wynd and the copious amount of caffeine consumed in the run up to an essay; there is another way, it’s called organisation. I know, “no shit” is the response to that, but we should all actually do it.  It’s going to be great.

I also forgot about Tesco and the necessity of the pre-emptive, ‘buy everything you’ll ever want to eat for the next three months’, food shop. When I sauntered through those automatic doors, relaxed and cheery, I was greeted with a desolate wasteland. It was like there had been a warning for a nuclear holocaust. It’s hard to get back into the habit of expecting little or nothing from a self proclaimed ‘super’ market.

I’ll leave the summarising to my old friend Troy Bolton, I hope this motivates you. You’re welcome.