I can't sleep.

Sleep is one of the privileges of the young. I can't sleep when I'm stressed- my mind is always where I wish my body could be; I can't sleep when I have nothing to do- it just seems like a fucking waste of time.

I strangely miss my room at Taylors. It was a fucking black hole. A bed, a table, a chair, a wardrobe. An undone bed and a half a load of unwashed laundry. Two stories above a canteen that served crap food and cordial. Every other meal was cooked in sweet chilli sauce and served with cold rice. Who invented cordial? That person should be hanged.

No one would have noticed if I died there.

And yet I miss it. Especially the holidays. Where I would rent four movies, eat instant noodles from a styrofoam cup and smoke mini-cigars beside my window. I had nothing but classics and booker prize nominees on my bookshelf. And probably half a bottle of Bailey's on my desk.

On Friday nights, I would make an effor to be sociable. It was always a struggle- should I pretend to listen to the crap band singing Radiohead off key, or should I pretend to listen to the boys and their untrue theories about women, school and gossip? On Saturdays I would visit the local pub with a book and my notepad.

Gosh, that was definitely one of the darkest periods of my life. Couldn't sleep then, couldn't sleep now.

I guess some people are meant to be alone.