Twenty-five and no life plan, don’t look to me for guidance.
I suck.
End of.
16th September
#hangover #hell #killmenow
The fact Meredith and I both like wine equally is, frankly, a dangerous combination. This is exactly what my dad talks about.
Ugh, I can’t remember the Freshers’ Ball at all.
According to Mer, who I’ve been lying beside for most of the day while we’ve groaned, thrown up, and basically wasted eight hours of our life, the live band were great.
I don’t remember them. The event. Anything.
After lying in corpse pose for an hour and a half, Mer and I agreed that there won’t be any drink tomorrow.
Yeah, solid plan.
17th September
(6.30 a.m.)
Can’t sleep. Too excited, too nervous, too everything in between. I haven’t slept at all and don’t want to look in the mirror, because I know staring back at me is going to be some awful monster with black ringed eyes and puffy cheeks.
Today is when it starts. University. Well, the first proper day that doesn’t involve being hideously drunk or puking from too much alcohol.
I should go back to sleep.
(7.00 a.m.)
I can’t do this. What was I thinking? Why did I think this was a good idea? Dad was right. I should have stayed at the bank, plodded on. Life would have been okay. Safe and sensible.
I’m going to tell them I’ve made a terrible mistake.
I’ll let Meredith know she’s got to go to class by herself.
(7.15 a.m.)
Meredith told me to stop being a knob.
I need a bitch slap and a strong coffee. We’re meeting in half and hour so we can have plenty of time to find the classroom.
I can do this. I can be independent and prove Dad wrong. It’s been days and I haven’t been home to the flat I share with my brother, Tristan, in Putney.
(7.20 a.m.)
John just text to wish me good luck. I don’t think he understood that when I told him I was coming to uni and needed to be by myself that I actually meant BY MYSELF.
I bet Mum put him up to it.
Hell. Do they still think we are a thing?
It was only a few dates… when did that become a life-long commitment?
(Later)