Warning: Long winded muesings and bouts of nostalgia that aren't really all that interesting and don't make much sense ahead

In a weeks time I shall be departing from the unpleasant, and certainly not very fair land of Hastings, and will be traveling to, taking up residence in and starting university at Aberystwyth. And yes - as the more astute of you may have observed from the under-use of vowels in that word - that is in Wales. People say that leaving home is a big thing, and can be stressful at times, and in a shocking twist of events, people are actually right. For once. Lets just hope that they can give a repeat performance when they say that "everything will be fine" and "university is great". Not that I need people to tell me that, however.

I've been saying "goodbye" to people recently, which feels like an odd thing to do. Some of my friends I've known since Year 7, and the fact that we are all departing of to university leads me to ask the question "just when did we all grow up, anyhow?". School, 6th form and all that sometimes still feels as if it was only yesterday and leaves one with a sense of fright at how fast the time has passed. Although it is with a rather surreal quality that whilst is seems like only yesterday, at the same time it feels somehow so far away now, especially considering how much has changed over the years, most notably these past two years in 6th form. Since starting there 2 years ago today (give or take a week or two or three) I have moved house once, had three girlfriends and my hair is now longer. I'm still scared by that old common room though. Some things will never change. I fear that I am now starting to ramble on about such things too much now, so I shall stop looking at the past, leave it where it belongs (over there on the shelf next to the air freshener) and look to the future instead...

...but I'm not going to do that, because if I look to the future then it fills my head with terrible, nightmarish visions that include the words "forms", "packing" and "traveling", which is pretty much a collection of all my phobias barring needles and Margaret Thatcher.

On that note I think it will be best if I do not look to the past, future or anywhere else, in a literal or philosophical sense, and instead I shall have a glass of wine and go do that thing where you lie on your back and stare at the ceiling until morning comes and you have no idea of where you've just been or what you've been doing. Sleeping, I think they call it.

Good night.