Today...

What to even TELL you about today?

At least half of the flat residents are sick, or about to become plagued with the same colds that have affected the rest of us due to the incredibly close living quarters. And the jet-lag. And the adjustment to a new climate. England is wonderful, until it donates eight pounds of mucus to the cavity between your eyeballs. Cheers.

This week has been hella stressful for many of us, as registration is now upon us all! The University of Nottingham, despite its decades of experience dealing with international students, has failed to create a system that will allow said students to register without pulling their hair out or wanting to shoot an unsuspecting squirrel in the tail with a bow and arrow. (Note: I do not condone violence against animals. Violence is not the answer. Make love, not war.) So really, many of us (lucky as we are to be part of a "well-balanced liberal arts education" in the States) are running between four or five different departments in the hopes of getting into upper level courses that have already been opened to the local upperclassmen for registration.

No one told me that being an international student would mean being treated like a freshman. Just what I've always wanted -- backtracking FOUR YEARS in my university life. Joy.

So tomorrow is the day -- the daunting day that has loomed over my head for the past week, and has caused many a scream session with my flatmates. I have carefully formulated backups for my very specific requirements for graduation (what a dandy it is to try to graduate the year you're studying abroad... not that I regret either decision, but holy wow...), created a systematic timeline for when to most efficiently run to each building and stand in a queue (line) to speak to the one person working the department registration desk that day. Conveniently enough, all four of my schools that I need to run to have scheduled registration AT THE SAME TIME.

Dear Lord, help us all.

I hope to send a more optimistic update to you tomorrow, but only time will tell whether the archaic methodology of registration employed here in Nottingham will manage to royally screw me over or not. I hope to evade any such misfortune, and instead I plan to endure through any and all circumstances... after throwing a fit for wasting so much time on formulating the perfect plan by which to succeed, most likely by dancing with more enthusiasm than necessary.

But hey, there's always hope, right? ...Right?

And alas, I see a light at the end of the tunnel, and that light is London. (ETA 24/9/2010)

Time to go snuggle with my kleenix box... ;)