There goes the first month, a rollercoaster. Start at the bottom, tick up, rush down, find yourself right back where you started.
One full month of not cooking for myself. Not once. And then finally braving the student kitchen, and discovering that they regularly have a supply of ingredients to make some pretty good stir fries. One whole month of not cooking for myself. Madness. And then suddenly I am caramelizing my own onions, and it's a dream come true! Only, I can't bring in any bacon from the meat shop, since they don't let you use your own ingredients. First world problems, eh?
One full month of chipping away at The Angry Chef, the last book I brought from home. Now I'm torn between pursuing something light and fluffy, or checking out Upton Sinclair's novel The Jungle, which is about the meat industry in 1905. Apparently he wrote the book (non-fiction) as a commentary on the treatment of immigrant workers, but it ended up sparking a movement to improve cleanliness standards instead. Sounds like it would be morbidly fun.
One month of chocking my head full of new information.
One month in which every day was something completely different, and yet they have all blurred into one.
Three more months to go. No time at all. An eternity.