The Breakdown Diaries

Tuesday, September 7th, 2022

Alright. Before getting to the reason I purchased this journal and absolutely needed to start tracking my days, I want to give you a little bit of context about my current situation.

First, I drove here. It took me five twelve-hours-non-stop-driving days and four motels before reaching my destination. I figured it would be useful to have my car to get around, but that it would also be much, much easier to drive my things across the country instead of flying with them.

When I reached Leonard Residence (why are school residences always named after old white men and in this case an old white man whose only accomplishment was to f und the construction of this building in 1957? I won’t ever know), I had just enough energy left to pick up my key card, do thirteen trips from my car to my room (it’s on the 4th floor, by the way, and Sir Leonard forgot to plan for an elevator), and make my bed. Then I crashed. And hard. I fell asleep to the point that I never heard my roommate move in—we have separate bedrooms, but a shared kitchen, living room, and bathroom—even though my door was wide open, and she could clearly see me on my bed.

I felt terrible, but I quickly fixed the situation by putting on my toothiest smile and explaining how exhausted I was from my trip here.

Oh, before I forget, her name is Corinna. She’s from BC, so she also had a little while to drive to get here, and she’s a first-year, just like me. The only problem? She and her friends from back home all decided to come to this particular university together—even though it’s only known for its Arts Management program (aka my field of study)—meaning that bonding with her shouldn’t be a problem but hanging out with her outside our apartment will highly likely be a no-go. I met her friends very briefly when they came pounding on our door. They were going for pre-semester drinks, but they didn’t seem to want me to join.

Anyway, having moved in on a Saturday and not having classes till today, I took the weekend to stroll around campus and see where all my classes would be. Sounds simple, right? Sounds like a smart thing to do for someone who has never visited the campus before, right? WRONG. Somehow, I managed to fail at walking around my campus. First, as per usual, I tripped on the steps leading up to Gregory Hall. I’m used to tripping when walking upstairs, but I’m usually only surrounded by, at max, five people. This was way worse: being the move-in weekend, there were hundreds of people on the lawn, by the bus stops, and entering and exiting the building. Everyone saw me fall. EVERYONE. I’m sure a couple of them were in my Intro to Artistic Mediums class today. And nobody offered to help me up.

And that was just the start of my Saturday. I walked into people because I was too concentrated on the classroom numbers above the doorframes, I splashed water all down my shorts because the water fountain was stronger than I predicted, and, of course, I pushed plenty of doors that were meant to be pulled. This doesn’t sound like much, but with people constantly around me… I just wanted to crawl back in bed, cry for a bit, and call my mom.

Which is exactly what I tried to do. Emphasis on the word “tried.” Back at Leonard Residence, I realized I didn’t have my key card. Not an issue, right? I can just wait for someone to leave or enter the building, right? WRONG. Per our security training, people were not allowed to let strangers inside the building without proof they were a resident there, or at the very least a student at the college. So, I had to march the whole kilometre across campus to reach the security desk—you’d think their position should be more central—and they escorted me back to let me into my own place.

So, I did not leave Rez for the rest of the long weekend. Instead, I caused chaos here, in our apartment. For instance, I managed to break one of Corinna’s glasses. I was simply trying to be nice and put it back in the cupboard since it was dry, but life apparently had other plans for the glass. I’m not even gonna try listing all the other things I almost broke/ruined/bumped into.

Fast-forward to today, my morning was…smooth. Unnaturally smooth. I guess the world knew that my day would be…whatever the hell it was because I usually would have at least dropped a knife with Nutella on it or something.

So after a suspiciously disaster-free morning prep, I made my way to campus. Intro to Artistic Mediums: good. My teacher even pronounced my name right. Lunchtime in the CAF: smooth. I didn’t drop, spill, or break anything. I was proud of myself, really. My second class of the day, Fundamentals of Project Management, also went well. I even spoke with the girl who sat beside me (although I don’t think we're a good personality match to become friends in the future).

BUT: then came the time to go to the bookstore to purchase my textbooks. Again, I found my way there easily, there was a huge line, but I am very patient. Overall, things were going great for a first day of class three provinces away from my comfort zone. I was doing great.

I give the textbook codes to the guy at the counter, he takes a few minutes to find them all in the back, he comes back to scan them, and then the expected moment of mayhem of the day showed up: I did not have my wallet.

Embarrassed, I try asking him if he could put it aside, the time I run to Rez to go get it, but he said no and that they’ll be closed by the time I get back. (What kind of campus store closes at 5 pm?). I asked him if they take e-transfers: “No.” I even joked and asked if I could flash him for them. He didn’t find it funny. I just really didn’t want to have to re-suffer waiting in line for forty-five minutes for textbooks. (I also would not have flashed him. I was just trying to lighten the mood.)

Then, of course, holding up the line for lack of payment method, the people behind me started noticing. I asked the guy behind me if he would pay for me and that I could e-transfer him immediately, but not knowing me, he preferred not to.

So, I turned back to the cashier. Abandoning all hopes of leaving with my textbooks, I started telling him I would come back, but then a voice a few steps down the line spoke up, saying they’d help. I turned to see who this mysterious figure was (men tend to not notice or give a crap about me, so I was more than intrigued about who my saviour would be), and my jaw dropped. Stepping out of his spot in line was none other than Tristan Pariseau. Aka TP. Aka the boy who, till he changed schools in the 5th grade, would burp in my face anytime the occasion arose.

He gave me a “long time no see” look, completed my transaction without even getting my consent—I would have said yes, but still, he should have made sure it was okay—and then, after I was finally able to leave the front desk, he guided me to his original spot in line. Oh! I forgot a step: right before he tapped his card, I yanked a notebook from a nearby stand (I had been debating about getting one while waiting in line, and now that Tristan had just strolled back into my life, I needed an outlet to express the shitstorm forming itself in my mind) and handed it to the cashier. He scanned it, and then Tristan continued being the annoyingly gentleman-like person that he has apparently become.

So yeah, once back in line (it didn’t feel appropriate to just walk out), he was all like “you’re welcome,” even though I had not yet said thank you, and then he started asking me about when I started studying here (he’s starting his second year), and what program I’m in (he’s in Environmental Science). We stood in awkward silence for a while as the cashier was searching for his list of textbooks, and then once outside, after he paid for his books, he asked me if I wanted to go grab a cup of coffee.

I told him I already had plans with my roommate (I didn’t), but that I’d love to catch up with him another time (I don’t). He understood, but he somehow also convinced me to exchange numbers with him before w e went our separate ways.

So now I’m here, trying to understand what just happened.

Did I successfully complete my first day of classes? Yes.

Did I embarrass myself in front of strangers? How could I not.

Did I run into someone from my hometown even though I’m LITERALLY three provinces away? Somehow, yes.

Ugh! Why him? Why Tristan? Out of all people in my hometown, why did it have to be the boy who I grew up with? The boy that I had bonded with on the fact that we were the only two anglophone kids in our French school. The boy who I went to pre-school with and whose parents know my parents. The boy who grew apart from me because of different interests (he was sporty, I was definitely not) and, honestly, probably because of physical appearances too (He got cute real’ quick. My glow up—if you can call it that—was last year).

Over the years, we always saw each other at local events—even though he went to a private school he still kept in touch with some of the kids that went to my school—but the most I’d get was a friendly nod. Friendly isn’t even the right word. I’d get an ‘Oh, true, she exists’ look. Nothing more than that.

I’m not mad at him, I’m not anything at him… Yes, seeing how we were so close as kids but grew apart and just witnessed each others’ lives from a safe distance did make me quite sad at the time, but I’m over it and have been for a while. No. I just don’t understand why I managed to pick the one school outside of our province that had someone that I know attending it. I chose this school in big part to get a fresh start, to forget about Devon, and to get to know myself as an independent woman rather than a dependent one. I did not choose this school to walk down memory lane.

I’m just frustrated by the situation. I came here to get away from people, and I couldn’t even go a full day of class without running into a familiar face.

God, I can just picture it now: anytime a holiday comes around, we’ll probably end up flying back home together and carpooling and our parents are going to hope that we become a couple.

I wonder if there is any possibility that, after our inevitable catch-up coffee (at which I will not be drinking coffee ‘cause ew), we both go on knowing that it’s better to just keep living the way we were so accustomed to back home: just nods, maybe friendly nods now, but nothing more?

Again: ugh!

Okay, I need to put this down. This is not a big deal. I’m just making it one and I have the power to stop it. I need to knock some sense into my brain and politely ask it to stop playing through its rom-com archives. I do not like him. I will never like him. And nothing will ever happen between us. Ever.

___

This is the first journal entry of a series of entries that will compose a novel-length work entitled The Breakdown Diaries. This work follows the life of a bright yet quite clumsy young adult entering her first year of university. She moved across the country for a fresh start after a rough breakup, but she can’t quite seem to get away from the people she knows. The novel will follow her personal growth through creating strong friendships, exploring romantic relationships, and most importantly, learning to set boundaries.