By Sophia Yakumithis

Welcome back to your regularly scheduled program of my blog, aka a reading exercise for my grandfather and probably no one else. I’m personally happy to be back to school, but we’ll see how I feel after two weeks of embodying Dickens’s lament in “Hard Times.”

Coming back to college after a summer consisting largely of nothingness is nothing short of a relief, but I can’t say the desolate space that is the George Sherman Union and lack of coffee shops to do work in are quite my speed. But hey, at least I have late nights with my friends and spontaneous outings to look forward to. Oh, wait. Not this semester. 

This semester gives off a completely different vibe, like, way more than I imagined. Yes, I expected to feel claustrophobic and accepted that when I agreed to come back to campus, but this is way more of a mental challenge than I had anticipated. And I’ve seen some s—. 

It might be because of the fact that I hail from the COVID-denying, anti-mask, sparsely populated Midwest, but the energy on and around campus feels very tense.

I’m paranoid of just about every move I make. Day one of living back on campus involved the confiscation of my university-provided air conditioning unit, along with me having to swirl the devil’s penis inside of both of my nostrils five times. In fear of it somehow making me orgasm, I did my best to suppress any facial expressions I might make and avoid awkward eye-contact with the guy on the other side of the glass.

Instead, the sensation induced a completely ludicrous resemblance of a bad silent-movie actor mimicking what it looks like to smell something “stinky.” However, it garnered a laugh — at me — from the testing volunteer, which was very cool to experience. 

Does the Commonwealth Avenue Barnes & Noble offer dunce caps? Because I think I need one after the lackluster welcoming back. 

Also, one of my roommates dipped this semester. This leaves me to my own devices with an extra bed, just in case I, you know, need an extra bed for myself, since slumber parties are off limits. It has been nice, though, to shift from one of my beds to the other a few times a day. At least now I experience some sort of movement during quarantine. It is a great workout and my body is going to look fantastic by October.

Based on the past week, I think Fall 2020 will accomplish nothing other than these two things: first, it’ll introduce us to some of our demons we haven’t met yet, and second, which elements of BU make a house foreclosure worth the fortune. 

The way things are looking right now, I can’t really fathom how a stuffy on-campus apartment and glitchy digital platforms are worth a raw cost of nearly $80,000. If I wanted to be emo in my room with nothing to do but masturbate and listen to Soviet synthwave, I would just have stayed home and turned my fan off. 

I’d like to end on a very personal note: I convinced myself that I’ve already taken a grand tour of Dante’s nine circles of Hell. But now I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe, I only made it to the fifth and was dropped off, my bones crushed by a moving bus and now I have to hitchhike the remaining four. I just hope to God that whoever drives me there can give me a lift back because I’m too tired to walk.