“One must be poor to know the luxury of giving!”

So, I moved today. As an only child, my family has a fairly interesting dynamic – I squawble with my parents like siblings, except there can be no muttered swearing, no physical attacks (anything psychological is fair game), and no convenient threats of the ultimate one-upmanship: “I'm telling Mum!”

What's really sad is the eerie, too-common sense that I'm the older one.

Get the whole story after the jump

Ah, Summer. I love Summer. Halcyon sun, lush green foliage, feathery critters chirping prettily at the wide open blue sky – it's probably my favourite season.

Maybe it's just me, but the most telling indicator of Summer always seems to be the wind. That delicious warm breeze which gently swirls with all the smells of thriving nature, stirring up memories of sunny childhood and whispering promises of an even sweeter future …

Forget wishing for a White Christmas. Give me Summer any year.

'Tis the jolly season, though, isn't it? And one of change for that proud minority of almost-adults who've somehow graduated high school and are onto worrying about the beginnings of higher education. (Protip: that's me)

So, fair reader, lend me your ear, as I spin tales of intrigue and disaster, mayhem and monetary troubles. This is no quest for the faint-hearted. Straighten your spine. Ready your mind. Rally every last cowering vestige of your courage; for this is ...

University.

Stay tuned.