I'm not kidding. The similarities are uncanny. Your family unloads your luggage in the 90+ degree weather, into your tiny, un-air conditioned room. You spend the better part of the day unpacking and organizing and cramming. Then your family leaves and you feel roughly ten years old and three feet tall. You eat with strangers, and then go to a couple of forced, sit and roast while we explain obvious rules kind of gatherings. Throw in a bad comedian and an awkward shower with flip flops on.
On a serious note, I like my room. It's new and clean and bright and not too cramped. And it has a great big window. It's just so hard to believe that I'll be living here for one year. It seems like after a week I'll pack up and go home. I haven't really talked to my neighboors - everyone is hot and exhausted and finishing unpacking. I'm sure I'll meet more people tomorrow than I can keep straight.
Tomorrow is a bunch of mandatory, repsonsible drinking, repsonsible sex, this is how you do laundry kind of meetings. I need to buy milk and get an ID card for my keychain, and pick up my textbooks. I can't wait until classes start - I don't really like not having anything to do. It'll be easier to make friends when I have classes and clubs and studying and a life.
Too tired to see straight anymore. I'll keep you posted on all of the horrific ice-breakers they make us do.
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