Last weekend, everyone else on campus started moving in. We had an entire weekend to ourselves, no responsibilities, no worries. Except, in true super model fashion, I got so sick. I could barely move, ridden with fever, and absolutely miserable. I spent the entire weekend asleep in bed. I missed the first weekend going out. I missed the excitement and the fun. I missed getting to see everyone. I missed so much.
I wanted to come to school so badly. To be back in my place with my people. To be carefree and lively. To buckle down and learn. To test myself and grow. To live and love and laugh.
Instead, I was ill. Instead, I was stuck in bed while all of my friends did the things that I had wanted so very badly to do. Don't get me wrong; they took care of me and made sure that I was alive. But I wasn't alive. Not really. I was dreaming and hoping from behind my medically induced sleep. Dreaming and hoping that this year would be the best. That I would be well by the next day. That I would live and love and laugh and find everything that I need... this week.
Not to be melodramatic, but I didn't. Not this week. This week I was still recovering. This week I was simply a student, going to class. I saw a few of my friends, but not as many as I would have liked. This week I was boring, which is something that I never like to be.
So things are going to be changing around here. My immune system is almost at 100%. I feel pretty healthy and most of my illness is out of my body. Things are going to be more fun. More lively. Things are going to be how I wanted and still want them to be.
Tonight, I'm going out.
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