Here is the latest in our series of blogs by Glasgow students.

Phoebe Inglis-Holmes is an honours year multimedia journalism student, aspiring radio presenter, music festival obsessive and green tea connoisseur.

Dear immune system, You're 21 now, and I no longer have the time for you throwing childish tantrums. When I was wee you used to play games all the time; what started out as a funny little cough here and a wheezy chest there progressed into continual infections and viruses that scared mum half to death. I would sob at cancelled birthday parties and howl at missed playdates as you wickedly stole all my fun away and wrapped it in phlegm. Your determination for me to spend all my time with you and you alone meant I would be off my feet for ages - one particularly harsh infection lead to a burst eardrum and months of trying to re-gain my balance. In my earliest school report, a teacher confessed her fears that I would never be able to catch a ball (I can) or be able to run with speed or stamina (I can't), because sometimes just standing was a struggle. Yet I learnt to live with you, like some kids learn to live with a particularly annoying, selfish sibling. I stuck with you through the teenage years, where blood tests showed that stress affected you hugely and I became surgically attached to my pyjamas, leading to me being closer to Rachel, Monica and Chandler than my real friends in the classrooms. I accepted you when my wisdom teeth came in and you couldn't fight off the infections that they brought, laughing along at the nickname Spongebob Squareface for 15 straight months because my face was so swollen it needed its own postcode. And in the end, I loved you because although you are irritating, you've helped me learn great things. You taught me how to work hard, and meet deadlines far in advance. You showed me how to appreciate my health, not taking it for granted like so many my age who think that the never ending combo of fast food and jager bombs won't hurt them. You've taught me to smile at everything, even when I feel like I'm drowning in my own sweaty fever. But now I'm asking you a favour. You've claimed my attention for seven straight weeks, have given me a scary hospital refferal, and ploughed more drugs into my system than most people see in a lifetime. You've been galavanting around with your best friend asthma and having a jolly old time whilst my dissertation has developed abandonment issues, my desk at work is left out of the office gossip, and my social life cries itself to sleep. I only have two months left at university and I want to remember them for more than being unwell. It's time for you to let me resume normal service and let me go. Yours, (but hopefully not forever) Phoebe