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Today I was walking to class…

 

Oh. Hang on. Backtrack. I am a student again. Third degree lucky.

 

It was an impulsive decision. In fact, I made it at seven o’clock on Monday night. Yet, most of my decisions are rather spur-of-the-moment. There is a very short thought process involved in all of my life changing decisions. I spend more time deciding which McFlurry flavour I will have for lunch.

“Is this just so you can meet a new Californian Surfer?” my friend asked, referring to my American-populated university and my ability to ignore my brain completely if a foreigner is involved.

No. No it is not about that. But, I mean, talk about a bonus! If I could get a second Masters Of Hot Men With An Accent and learn about philosophy, epistemology and international relations in the process, then, kudos me.

 

I have always wanted to be a professional student. The cheese may stand alone, but I have a tremendous amount of respect for people (ahem, like me) who frequently dedicate their time to academia. It may seem oblivious that I have modelled myself on a tweed-jacket-wearing-pipe-smoking-professor, but the reality is that I have.

Intellect, fashion and nicotine: Really, what more does one need in life?

 

An income? Pfft.

 

By the time my first classed rolled around on Thursday, I had already begun two assignments, started research on another and read countless academic articles in preparation.

And then I couldn’t find the room the class was located in.

I was lost (I have done two degrees at this university before, remember).

“Where are you going?” The little red-headed girl asked me after I stalked her for directions. I was going to a philosophy class and there was a very good chance that the same question would be directed to me again when I got there. In a different context, of course.

I arrived late and was left with only two seating options: the floor or a backless chair that a very cute Nordic-looking boy was using as a footrest.

“Can I sit on your footrest?”

“You can sit on my lap if you want.” I think I made a friend.

 

During my first degree, I was in a pseudo-serious relationship for the entirety. My only option was to innocently flirt with the gorgeous international men (and then go to their home countries years later. But that is a different story for a different time). During my first Masters degree, I was completely and utterly in love and didn’t even look at another beautiful man.

Now…well…a tornado is about to tare through campus. And it will get its ferocity from the Uni Bar.

“There are just so many beautiful guys here!” I squealed in delight to my friend Aimee as we made our way through the packs.

“They’re boys.”

I squealed in delight. Again.

 

After three hours, ten drinks and realizing that the only place at university I don’t get lost is the bar, I met a boy.

“Would you like a drink?” He asked.

“How old are you?” I replied (Aside: twenty four).

Hmmm. A Canadian law student.

This degree is going to be different. Third time lucky.

 

Post By Salium.