the worst month of the year

monday the 28th of november

my stress is bubbling. one job has spiralled to three and i am still just as broke. christmas. new year. savings. my car. food. fun. thinking about anything in my life just turns into giant flashing dollar signs spinning infront of my eyes like some sort of taunting slot machine.

the cycle of working-class studenthood is an exhausting and embarrassing one. i consider the decision to no longer buy coffee at uni. i decide against it, as it’s probably the only thing keeping me sane. what, just because i’m broke i can’t have anything nice? if i’m working this much against my will, you best believe that the least i deserve is a little treat at that midweek crisis point.

im coughing, still. the student medical practice is full and uncaring. my student house probably has mould. don’t they all?

despite the day building a house on my nervous system, the feeling of coming home to a living room full of my friends is a fresh breath in a room of smoke. the house is cold but this moment is warm. they come to greet me at the open door and use the sight of outside as an excuse to spark a cig.

i wonder for a fleeting second if i should take up smoking. it looks kind of calming, the ritual of the trip outside, the deep breaths, the silent moment of pondering. then i remember my cough. and that my dad would take my head off my shoulders no matter my age. i decide i can take deep breaths without using a cancer stick as the medium.

i have three assignmentys due next week but somehow i am still breathing and i still will be afterwards too. i try not to let november destroy my morale. every student mutually nods that its the most intense and soul destroying month of the year.

all seven of us cook our teas seperately but together, hunched and dancing around each other in our crowded kitchen. the living room speaker is playing music, as it does all day every day. i can write 2,500 words later, but i cant make up this exact moment ever again.