"Why is everyone here a gourmet chef?"

There are three Americans in my flat (including myself) and I haven't seen Sophia cook a lot, but I know for a fact that Philly and I had issues when we started living in conditions where we had to make our own dinners. While we were two classic college kids - helpless without the microwave - it looked as though everyone else (British) had specifically taken cooking classes in preparation of living in a flat this year.

I remember going shopping with some of the guys ("lads") from STC and while they were picking out cooking ingredients (carrots, potatoes, pasta, various meats, etc) I was looking at basic things like eggs, bread, milk, and peanut butter, as well as instant meals. Philly has been brave and started making her own pasta - I suppose I should jump on the bandwagon and learn to cook my own meat. A pair of my skinny jeans (levis) are no longer considered my "skinny" jeans anymore. Better eat! I'm still worried about burning something...and by something I mean everything and anything.

My notes for the previously mentioned assignment have increased and to prove I've been completing other assignments, here's a poem I wrote for the poetry class:

"Wooden floors"

So long since silence soothed these ears

The floor snarled and whined so often

Whether I was trodding, or creeping – so often

The riotous foundation became…silence

“Don’t fix what’s not broken,” I’m advised,

“Let the floor be until you can’t stand anymore.”

So I stand.

But I’m restless.

The floor and I are the same –

The perfect match.
As loud as the floor promises never to break,

The buckling and creaking cause my fear

Of one day falling through.

“Don’t fix it.”

“Don’t break it.”

But I’m restless.

I tread to something new. Something quiet.

I press my ears to the wood, listening for assurance.

Not a sound. How promising.

Behind me, the floor groans in my absence still, wondering where I went.

I continue to pace on solid silence. I’ll go back…eventually.

So long since silence soothed these ears.

So quiet I tread, no one even knows I’m here.