No, wait. That's unfair to me. Slightly.
It's been a tough few years, and I honestly didn't realise just how much everything was still niggling at the back of my mind and affecting everything I did. It's not like there's any time to actually breathe at university. There's no comforting routine to engulf yourself in and use as a guide to happily plod along as you deal with all the stuff that life throws at you. Every now and then you get an essay, or assignment, or social, or something that just ruins your timetable.
So. Here we are again, Year 3.2. My dissertation topic is the same, and on the plus side I actually know what I'm doing and where I'm going with it this year (minus the inevitable tweaks that'll happen along the way, of course). My first semester timetable is identical, right down to the times, lecturers, and in two cases, the rooms.
That's one of the things that's not actually helping. I walked into one room this morning with a sense of deja vu, and the firm feeling that two of my friends would be there. But of course, they're not. They graduated. One of them's job hunting whilst the other is getting ready to go abroad and start her Masters.
Instead there was a crowded room, full of faces I didn't recognise, who have no idea who I am or why I'm there.
Additionally, one of my house-mates (oh, yeah, I'm in a house now. No more living on campus for me!) is someone who I started uni with, who graduated whilst I was repeating my second year, who took a year away from uni to get a job and earn some money, and who is now back doing her Masters.
I don't envy her. I don't want her to do badly. I like her, and I enjoy living with her. But I can't help but be reminded that I shouldn't still be doing my undergraduate degree when she's here as a post-graduate. It's just strange.
The house, which I realise I haven't mentioned is sort-of wonderful-ish.
We have a fairly severe damp problem due to next door having as massive as-yet-unseen-to water leak, which has resulted in builders coming around and hacking the hallway walls right outside my room back to the bare brickwork (walking over rubble this afternoon was great).
Other than that, and the fact that we're refusing to put the heating on so it's a bit cold in this house, I actually adore living here.
I have a light in the centre of my ceiling, not one on the wall right next to the book shelves, which meant that half my desk was always in darkness.
I have a bay window.
I have a double bed. Granted I'd have been perfectly happy with a single bed, as that's what I've always had, but still, the change is nice.
I don't have any curtains, I have these pale Roman blind things which seem to be very good at letting light in and heat out.
I find myself missing carpet terribly. Laminate is cold, even through socks and slippers shaped like Eeyore's head.
But I do like having space. Space to move around, space to place things knowing that they very rarely have to move. Space to work without having to move stuff from one place to the other because there just isn't anywhere to keep anything for any period of time.
I like having a sitting room that you can just go to and sit, work, read or cross-stitch when you're fed-up with being cooped up in your room, but don't actually want to go anywhere.
I like having Virgin TV.
I like walking to and from campus, knowing that I have somewhere to escape from campus to, and knowing that I get to walk through two parks (one of them isn't as nice, and is annoyingly unavoidable, but it's a park). They'll be hellish during Hayfever season, I'm sure. Just as they'll be utter hell when the weather realises that it's actually the time of year when things are supposed to be cold and wet. Regardless, I'm enjoying the walking. It's exercise, and exercise is good for you.
I need to get a book shelf, though, and I'm eyeing up moving furniture again (which is bad), but I'm settled, and I'm happy and enjoying university life.
And right now that is such a far cry from last year that I'm really not complaining.
