Saturday:

Show up (what a surprise!) with a bag full of what was once your life: filled with photos of people you’re never going to speak to again, books you won’t read, and the bottle of vodka you snuck past your parents. You spend far too long in your room selecting clothes that were cool when you were at school, but now feel a touch immature. All well. You’re ready to make new friends and have a good time.

Sunday:

Okay, maybe student life is harder than you thought. After bumping into two generally recognisable faces and a bunch of people who just seem to know you by some uncomfortable reputation, you have one of the most awkward and stilted conversations of your life. The entire conversation seems to revolve around what they drank last night and what they’re going to drink tonight. You feign interest until everyone else stops speaking and it’s your turn to be boring. You’re aware of the fact that no-one cares. At lunch, you manage to have a chat with someone who you have SO much in common with (you both have hair).

Monday:

Waking up, you find a bunch of hickeys in some weird places. Yeah, best week of your life! …but why did they leave one on your jugular? You decide to look up the person on Facebook. Wow, that’s quite a lot of posts about the pain of life… Oh, Christ, you hooked up with a goth. Maybe one day this will be funny, but currently the best you can hope for is that they don’t try and contact you. All well, another partying night ahead. Woo, freshers’ week!

Tuesday:

Have you always been missing that tooth? Don’t think so, but oh well. Why do people keep messaging photos of you passed out in a wheelchair? You begin to gently sob while texting back “Yeah, Freshers’ Week.” After a few hours have passed and you’ve become accustomed to the throbbing pain, you go to your meeting with your advisor. It’s only been a few days, but half the people on the street seem to recognise you. Opting to have a quiet night in, you decide to play a drinking game with a bunch of people you met at lunch. Half way through, someone begins to cry, having just revealed all their problems. You feel both weirdly happy it wasn’t you who started crying, and also a little guilty that you never want to see them again.

Wednesday:

Your first introduction lecture. You spend the entire time wondering about the game of “never have I ever” that you played last night. Would it be appropriate to explain to people why you pooed in a ziplock bag? You (correctly) decide to never bring it up again.

Thursday:

Your sink smells oddly of urine. You check your skin for signs of liver failure. Maybe it’s meningitis. Five minutes of google and webMD later you know that there is SOMETHING medically wrong with you, and whatever it is, it’s serious. You’ll probably be dead by the time Freshers’ Week ends. Best enjoy yourself while you can.

Friday:

Wake up an emotional wreck. See to your horror the state your room is in. Check your phone, and then see to your horror the state your social life is in. Perhaps you can repair the damage, but there are definitely, at least, two people who are never going to speak to you again.

Saturday:

Tired and slightly broken, you put a fake smile onto your face and continue the façade of being happy. Someone you’ve never met (or at least can’t remember) shouts “best week ever!” right into your ear. You return the call, aware that it’s like two sick dogs sniffing each other’s bums because of some kind of unspoken social code. You don’t know why you do it – you just do.

Sunday:

After signing up to way too many groups at the Freshers’ Fayre (mostly for the free food they were offering you), you brace yourself for a final night. However, you can’t help but feel slightly relieved that you didn’t have meningitis, and you are still alive. Maybe, just maybe, it was the multiple pablos from the Union that made you feel like a rotting tooth. Speaking of which, you managed to find yours at the Union. You haven’t claimed it. You spend the rest of the day trying to avoid alcohol, and generally prepare yourself for classes tomorrow. As daylight fades, you heave yourself of to bed for an early night, secretly grateful that the best week of your life is finally over.

 

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