A sudden onslaught of insomnia has led me to sit aimlessly at my laptop, bleary eyed and knackered in an attempt, I suppose, to induce a state of doze on my brain currently being fuelled by tea and custard creams. Normally I would have some sort of mental plan as to the direction of what I’m writing before I begin to write about it. To those who have read any of my previous articles prior to this, this may come as some sort of surprise but I promise I do. Trust me. In this instance however, no such luck. I’d like to say that I have a myriad of topics to discuss stored away for me to pluck at at random whenever the mood may take me, but alas, t’is not so. I suppose the natural thing to talk about, also being the only thing my brain is offering me at the moment apart from different items of food I have in the fridge that I could potentially go and eat, would be the impending Christmas break that is to befall on all University students in the next few weeks, so I’ll settle for that.
In comparison to a number of people in my own flat and of the flat next door, my work load this semester has been relatively manageable and somewhat free of the stereotypical stress that University work stigmatically possesses. That said, having done essentially nothing in the summer, pre-enrolment, I feel currently like I have indeed completed the whole three years. I don’t think that I’ve read so many books, journals, articles and plays in such succession in such a short amount of time in my entire life. In fact, I’m sure I haven’t and every tutor’s favourite, if not a little patronising, phrase “don’t complain, at least you’re getting your money’s worth” may not be able to encourage quite so many for quite so long when everybody returns in January fresh from a month of procrastinating around exam revision and unwritten essays.
Without sounding preachy or pathetic, I haven’t yearned for a Christmas break quite as much in my entire life as I do this one. Don’t get me wrong, I love everyone I’ve met since arriving in Leeds, but it’s difficult to move to a new city having left everyone you’ve lived with and known for years; friends and family, just like that and not really see them or have contact with them other than through texts and calls for a good block of time. Especially for someone who is as averse to change as I am. To go back to Warrington and see everyone, have some nights out and have things as they were even for just a relatively small amount of time is just what I need I think at this point in time. I have spoken to some of these aforementioned people quite recently who, without question, echo these thoughts.
I apologise if I've started to sound relatively soppy; I fear it’s the tiredness taking hold. Either that or the custard creams. I assure whoever you are reading this though that it isn’t a cry for help or anything, more likely a cry for a Morrison’s chicken bites meal (only some will get that reference, you know who you are) and a bit of time back in the motherland with the friends and family I’ve missed. Plus the fact, when I return to Leeds in January, the English module turns its head to poetry. I hate poetry.
