It was a particularly balmy evening when my flatmates and I decided to revisit a childhood treat.
We dropped ice cream into 99c soda and stood around the kitchen, each finding a relatively un-sticky surface to rest against.
It was here, noses buried in our assorted cups, that we began to reflect upon life at large, though we started out small, of course.
We remarked that it was pleasant to have the back door open on an August evening even though we were mildly disappointed with our ice-cream cocktails.
Soon, however, we moved on.
One brave soul earnestly asked whether we had a mop and whether it might be an idea to clean up the soda splattered across the floor before it became a congealed mess of broccoli leaves, coffee grinds, and those weird little things that hold bread bags shut.
The response was something along the lines of, why would we - demi adults that we are - own a mop? As it happens, we do have a mop, but the bucket was upstairs and so that ruled out any serious clean-up attempts.
Flat bureaucracy aside, we segued rather elegantly into an intelligent and informed discussion of the Ebola outbreak in West Africa.
While the two flatmates with actual scientific knowledge argued over whether the disease was airborne, I reflected upon my own health, having recently recovered from a rather nasty (and obviously life-threatening) cold. I am inordinately afraid of epidemics.
As an abnormally hysterical child I spent the large majority of my evenings in bed, staring at the ceiling, worrying about Sars, bird flu, HIV, and a host of other illnesses.
The evening in question, though, I allowed myself a cursory glance around our kitchen.
This only served to elicit a sort of melancholy acceptance in the pit of my stomach.
If Ebola did turn out to be airborne then I would definitely get it and so would my overwrought and malnourished friends.
There was no question. If disease were to sweep the planet then students, those lovable almost grown-ups, would be the first to go.
For a brief moment, positive thinking overwhelmed me. I could clean up the flat; throw out the teabag that had been sitting in a bottle cap beside an empty plastic bag for two weeks, vacuum behind the fridge.
I could go to the supermarket and stock up on vegetables and whole foods.
I could drink more water and go to bed at 10pm every night. Thankfully, these feelings were shortlived.
I realised, with sudden clarity, that now is the time when it is acceptable for me to live a half-life, suspended somewhere between adulthood and anarchic irresponsibility.
Never again will I be able to reach such levels of uselessness while still in possession of all my physical faculties.
I realised that, Ebola or no Ebola, nothing could bring me greater satisfaction than watching a friend successfully subsisting off three-dozen cheese rolls for a week.
I can promise myself all I like that I will get out of bed in time to shower before I go to class and still never achieve it without falling into soul-crushing ennui (usually).
Evidently, there will come a time when I might have to consider doing things properly, but I'm relatively certain that time is not now.
If all goes well, and Ebola does not reach these shores, then my friends and I might just live long enough to investigate a few more childhood experiences, and maybe even reach a point in our lives where walking on the kitchen floor barefoot is a viable option.
-Millie Lovelock is a student at the University of Otago. She will be sharing her thoughts on student life and whatever else takes her fancy.
