Fabrication

I ended up back in the Town & Gown last night. Stu had two friends down, jovial lads from Basildon, and most of our group was there but I sat to one side, hunched low and morose in my seat. Apart from a conversation with Penny about Buddhism, I didn’t say anything.

My abiding recollection of the whole evening is of its unreality and of the very strange feelings inside that made mundane everyday concerns feel distant and unimportant. It felt impossible for me to participate, so I sat there feeling increasingly strange. Lindsey sat across from me at the table, occasionally flicking a look in my direction as I sank further and further into my seat. I looked so out of things and apart that I could see her and Susie exchanging low comments and glancing over at me.

Back in Wollstonecraft I paced neurotically from room to room, then down to the foyer feeling torn inside, my feelings unbearable and impossible to describe, impossible to contain. I ran my hands through my hair in desperation and I could’ve screamed, kicked something to bits, done anything!

But today those feelings are muted and at times absent. I went to my American History tutorial, an endless Alan Draper monologue about Zuckerman’s Fabrication of Identity in Early America.

Tonight we're having our now weekly Watermouth pub crawl. Evening is always that time when all my fears, obsessions and passing daylight thoughts are focused and intensified.