Exile

I have never been so upset to be leaving a place than I am to be leaving the northeast later today. Sure, I'm dreading the exams neither for which I've prepared nor about which I've convinced myself to care, but they are not nearly colossal enough to strike immobilising fear upon my mind; only one such experience springs to mind, and it is far detached from the world of academia.

It also doesn't help that Sunday happens to be my sister's birthday. She at least pretends not to care, but it does slightly annoy me that the schedule has woven itself so tightly around the pivot of being a nuisance. That rather sets the theme for all my grumbles at being called back to university and my duties as another brick in the wall. I don't believe I wasted a moment over these holidays and yet I regret not being able to do so much more.

Nonetheless, I spend this weekend in Cambridge, and, save a few exams, I can bathe in the luscious waters of no work, regimes or responsibilities for ten weeks thereafter. It's not all doom and gloom. I used to enjoy Maths, especially exams; perhaps there is yet scope to rekindle that enjoyment. It would be the one thing to fully restore my faith in this degree if I could at least remember why it was I thought I'd enjoy it.

Like I say, Cambridge this weekend with, to choose the most apt superlative, the most entertaining of my flatmates, followed by two days hard graft, an exam, then a Pre-Avengers marathon amongst friends. It's not quite being by the seaside, but nothing ever was.