Take it to the top with me

You know how I know I'm back? Hiphop is the only way to express your feelings and in every class I've been in so far, there's been gum on the bottom of every foldable table - UNBELIEVABLY DISGUSTING.
On scrolling through last semester's emails, I realised that there is a paid summer internship in journalism available after all via the Cav Daily mailing list, and I missed the deadline. I am trying to avoid the sour-grape route i.e. convincing myself I'm not overly serious about journalism anymore when I don't actually have any experience with which to speak of, so forget disengagement.
Also, last semester's theme was race relations, this semester's is religion. I find it highly amusing that I don't know shit about the Puritans, Pilgrims and Oliver Cromwell and am now all set to rattle off as if I've loved them all my life. "Has anyone of you never ever read poetry before and are just here to swing it?" says the professor in my Poetries of Asia class, and one guy raises his hand with a complete WTF-am-I-doing-here face on, because this is after people have passionately insisted that poetry is about feelings and abstraction and that the green bamboo shoot springing back into the sky is either a new birth or the release of a man no longer in love. Etc.
"There isn't a particle of you that I don't know, remember and want," said Noel Coward, and I'm waiting for the day I can say that.