I missed LBGT (university les/bi/gay/transsexual society) night yesterday. I don't remember any of it but I'm told I was carried back to my room at about 8pm after downing a bottle of vodka during one of my Ubermensch moods.
All normal and expected so far. I am terribly grateful to my neighbours for assisting me; they were perfectly considerate and jovial today. What worries me is what they must have thought of my room. I don't get many visitors you see. In fact I can only remember three visits over my three-year course so far: my sister, some prospective students looking around the rooms, and a girl from lectures who politely asked me to stay away from her.
Isolation changes your priorities; when you're always cooking for one you just don't have the time for spices, and I've never bothered with furnishings. That's right, I don't have a rug. Looking around my room now I can see glaring signals of weirdness that must have stuck in my colleagues eyes.
It's the little things. For example, I haven't bothered with a pillowcase, which coupled with the bare walls and my chin-up bar creates quite a prison or army aura, which is somehow strengthened by the hundreds of pages of maths notes strewn about the floor. These empty shelves... my CD collection consists of one album,
Violator. Term only started last Thursday but I've got several identical empty wine bottles lined up (half price at Sainsbury's). My only other possessions are my cactus Russell and my laptop. Thank God I had
a cute picture as my desktop wallpaper instead of the usual gay fisting porn.
I'm sure I'm worrying about nothing. My helpers must have been too busy watching me vomit blood to notice the decor but I wonder whether it would be worth spending a bit to pretty up the old domicile. I don't really have the money but I could allocate a hundred pounds or so if I cut back on the self-harm budget. What do you think?