This week marks the last week of my first semester of University. I’ve signed my first contract (here meaning I signed the first contract I’ve ever properly read and/ or cared about, I’m sure terms and conditions come under contract law somewhere), I behaved more or less like an adult, and I may or may not find myself slipping back into unhealthy habits and a generalised feeling of supreme loneliness.
Lets start with the fun bit huh? I signed a contract, a good one (well not a good one actually) for a house, a good house (a very good house) and it was stressful and exciting and genuinely terrifying for a minute there. The contract itself was quite possibly the worst thing I have ever read ever (and I’ve read Pamela.) The spelling was atrocious, the grammar was terrible and the fact that at one point one of my flatmates looked like she was gonna cry really only begins to describe how absolutely shhhhhhhocking this piece of writing was. But we signed it anyways. Why I hear you ask? Surely signing a shitty contract is, like, the worst thing ever??????
I mean, you’re not wrong.
But the fact is the house is amazing; good area; close to the uni; round the corner from town, and the main student pub; seven absolutely massive double bedrooms and original Georgian features. With my student debt I’m never gonna be able to live in somewhere as spectacular as this again. So, good contract or shitty contract, I’ll take it.
I’m not going to lie to you, the speed and confidence required to find a property, let alone a solid property for next year, whilst simultaneously dealing with your unchanged work load (and the fact that you can’t be certain of your choice in housemates because there’s months before move-in day) is stressful. House hunting sucks, and you have to answer unknown phone calls and talk to random blokes called Steve from XXX-Properties, who absolutely could run two viewings, but won’t, even if getting seven people with different schedules in one place at the same time is fucking impossible. It is truly terrifying, but needs must.
The less fun part of this semester has been the general adulting required to navigate it. Bus timetables and shopping lists and laundry and assignments with mean word counts. It’s hard, and it makes you want to cry, and then it started snowing, so now you’re sad and cold. Really student life is just a cycle of sad/cold and hot/drunk with some bad R’n’B music, a lot of pasta and some quality time in the library chucked in for variety.
I made a Christmas dinner, that was fun. And it went well. Unbelievably well, actually. I made Brussel sprouts for the first time, and they went so well I even got my veg-phobic flatmate eating them (the secret is pan-frying and smoked garlic, 60p in Morrrisons invest people, invest.) I never truly understood why my Mum drinks wine with dinner until I sat down with a burnt finger, cold potatoes and nine people wearing silver paper hats to eat a minimal amount of chicken and some frankly incredible Brussels. Stress.
Final part of my semester is loneliness, for want of a better word, and bad habits. It’s not so much that I’m alone, although I am and sometimes you notice your singledom more than others, its just that I feel pretty isolated. I’ve never been brilliant with the whole feeling left out thing, I was bullied quite badly as a child and the result was me spending a lot of time alone, as such I tend to get pretty sad and mopey when I feel left out of things. Like my best friends group of friends for example. It’s not necessarily that they don’t like me, although it would probably be best if they did, it’s that they don’t like me enough for me to be included in things, but like me just enough that I know I could ask for an invitation and receive one. Although I’d feel rude and imposter-y the whole time. And because I know they don’t really like me every time I see them I’m on edge; I feel jittery and sweaty and a little bit like a failure and there isn’t really any reason to. And yes, I know I should just talk to her, but old habits die hard and I’m still in the suffering in silence stage of angry-sad.
Also, I’ve started going out more, and that somehow makes me feel lonely too, I didn’t know it was possible to feel more entirely isolated in a humid room full of people and bass, than when you’re actually by yourself; but here I am. I think a big part of it is the separation I feel between me and the other people there. I’m never quite drunk enough, I never feel sexy enough or like my dancing is any good, I never feel in place. And its really fucking tiring. And I think the worst part is how entirely aware I am of how I look as well. Because I know facially I’m not terrible, my skin can be a bit shit and my foundation and my blush don’t always get on but I’m not ugly, sometimes actually I’m quite pretty. It’s not my face, It’s my size. I’m bigger. Not BIG, but bigger, curvy in the right clothes, but flat-out bad looking in the wrong ones. And looking sexy when you’re very aware of you’re own size is hard; you get self-concious and it knocks your confidence and you start wondering if this is why you’re single, and if it is what can you do about it.
So thats my semester in a nutshell, adulting and contracts and feeling lonely. Bad mental health days and Brussel sprouts. It’s been a time.
Until after my next accidental hiatus
Yours with love and Christmas (or Holiday) wishes