Showers are good, because the water runs down your face and you can imagine that you're crying even though, actually, you aren't, because you can't.

I want to go home. I want to go back to my tiny green womb/room, with my blankets and my books and my big warm bed and i want to lie there and be happy. I don't want to be here, in my cold, damp room that generates fluff, hung about with wet T-shirts and with my stores of flapjacks and apples falling quickly.

I thought (And i think this every time.) that this time would be different, that i was making a new start and that i'd be better. But see how quickly i've fallen into old routines, it's scary. I don't even feel like i have anyone i can talk to. I can't talk to the people back home, because they won't know whop or what i'm talkinmg about. And i can't to people here because i don't know them well enough. I feel lonelier than i've ever been before. I suppose3 there probably have been times this bad, or even worse, but right now they don't count. I've just had a shower and after a while i just sat down and hugged my knees, in the traditional woeful pose. And know i've gone back to scratching myself. The back of my left hand (It's normally my left hand.) is swollen and sticky with thaty stuff that appears on wounds before the scabs come. I know what'll happen next. They'll gradually turn a horrid brown, which i'll pick off, discovering a little blood underneath. Aftrer that, proper scabs will appear and my hands will start to heal, between intervals of the scabs being pulled off and eaten. (Is that disgusting? To eat your scabs? It only seems to me like an extension of sucking your own blood, and i know i'm not the only person who does that.) Then i'll have scars, which will be all puckered and go bright purple in the cold, and then i'll be pretty much healed, and those scars will eventually be covered up by new scabs. I blogged once about the time i cut myself. I never put back the knike i used and, to the best of my knowledge, it's still sitting at the back of a magazine rack on my bookshelves.

I thought this time would be different, but it isn't, it isn't at all. I'm still just me: never loved, only pitied. Yes, people may like me, be my friend, but nothing ever goes further. And it's my fault, it must be. I tried to think of someone to blame, but there's nobody but myself. I'm the only factor common to everything i haven't liked about my life. I bring it on myself by just being so utterly pathetic.

It's started getting scabby now. You can see a darker patch on my skin. I didn't expect it would be as big as this. I expected a couple of large scars, long and thin, in parallel, linked perhaps by a string of smaller blobby scabs. I didn't think i'd scratched it enough for a huge skinless patch. I would have carried on, but i thought i'd probably been in the shower too long already. And onve i've stopped scratching it hurts too much to start againn. That is about the only time they hurt though. They don't really hurt when i'm scratching the skin off in the first place. I don't really do it to hurt myself. If i wanted to do that i'd be more dramatic with a knife or something. I'm pretty certain these are just for attention. I've always sought attention, but never in the good way of actually making myself worthy of it. That's why i squealed and shrieked all the time. I can't really do that any more. My voice is too deep. I wish it wasn't. I liked having a high voice. My voice stayed high ages after most people's had broken. I suppose i'm going to go through my whole life looking back and missing things. I even think about the present in the past tense. I sit there, mulling over things, the words i will write either here in my blog or in my diary describing events as they happen but immediately transferring them to the past tense.

Tonight is the night of "The Big Gay Pub Crawl". I have every intention of going, but i'll probably screw that up too. (Oh cripes. I just turned to the back of a notebook and found the place where i'd worked out half of E's timetable in (I think.) year eleven. Some of it i got by following him, some by just asking people i knew to be in his class what lessons they had.) I know UR will be there, and i'm looking forward to seeing her. It seems likely that UE will be there too. One side effect of my obsessions is to render me completey incapable of talking to or acknowledging the person. Perhaps if i weren't now obsessed with him he could have grown to like me. Instead, when he finds out, he'll hate me instead (I accept that people can be flattered to hear you have feelings for them, to hear that you have a stalker must be a little scary. Never, anywhere in anything i've read (And books are the only reference point i have to real life.) has a stalker been presented in a positive light. Never have they turned out actually to win over the subject of their infatuation. In fact, it seems much more likely that i'm to end up killing him. I don't really think this will happen, though. I didn't kill E, or eat him, or anything. In fact, i'm virtually a perfectly functional member of society, compared to serial killers and rapists. That isn't terribly comforting.

I wish i could just cut out the part of me that wants anything more than friendship. There's just a huge part of me dying, somewhere, to find love, and i want to make it see that it has no hope and just trample it until it disappears.

I don't want any of this. I want to be at home, alone again. With no knowledge of the outside world, no idea that it even exists. I want just to sit there, steaming in my own selfishness, until i die a boring but fulfilled death.

I've just come back from trying to wash and dry my clothes. I think i may need to start washing them by hand and buy a clothes horse. I haven't got all that many clothes, so i decided i'd be best off washing them sooner rather than later. So i did. I traipsed over to the launderette and sat. And waited. It felt like hours before my clothes were done, but as soon as they were i moved them over to a tumble dryer, put my forty pence in and waited. It seemed even longer this time, but eventually it was time. I opened the door, stuck mu hand in began to pull out my clothes. They were still soaking wet. I tried another dryer and they were only marginally dryer forty minutes later. My room is now bedecked with socks and shirts, all a much darker shade of green than they should be. I'm not terribly happy.

My obsession appears to be coming on apace. There was an 'activities bazaar' today, and i went along, partly because i thought i might sign up for things and partly because i knew the LGB had a stall there and i hoped i might see UE. Also, i did have to be over at the university anyway, to get some information about my french course. I did see UE there, although i wasn't able to spend much time gazing. I walked around the stalls a few times, stealing a few glimpses as i went. And then i left. I'd other things to do. I came back again though, later, and on my way in, i saw P. I'm getting pretty good at avoiding him now though, so i held back. Seconds later i realised that the first thing he'd see as he went in would be the LGB stall. I didn't know what i could do, but i wanted to try do something. He was with someone, a girl. It's good that he's getting friends too. For some reason i assumed he wouldn't be. Perhaps his new friends will mean i'm free of him. Anyway, i decided to follow him round, maybe to try stop him somehow if he got too near the LGB stall. I did pretty well for a while but at one point he didn't seem to be making much progress, but UE had got up to go somewhere else. I got distracted and lost P. So i stayed instead by the stall, so that if he did appear i'd still know. He didn't come for ages though, and i just got bored and decided to leave. Entirely by coincidence, of course, this was about the time that i noticed UE picking up his bag to leave. I dithered a bit, then left. Outside, i dithered again, but, catching a glimpse of UE, i strode erratically off in the direction of home, berating myself and almost tripping over my feet. I turned right, but stopped myself in time to watch which way UE (Who i knew had come down the same path as me.) went. He turned left, towards the centre of Sheffield. Only then did i remember that i'd actually planned to go into Waterstone's today. So i turned round and, by a serious of coincidences i'd suconsciously tricked myself into taking seriously, i found myself stalking him.

I think he was going home. On Tuesday night, on our way to the club, he and one of the others, who i think lives in the same building but not, i gathered from conversations i 'overheard', in the same apartment. And almost certainly not in the same bed. It sounded as if there isn't anyone else who sleeps regularly in his bed but him. Oh god, this isn't healthy, is it. It really, really isn't. He must have noticed. At one point he stopped, i think he was looking over at my side of the road. Not because he'd seen me, but he was talking to someone. But surely then he stood a good chance of seeing me. Why do i have to go round obsessing over people. Erotomania, ever heard of that? I saw about it first in a film starring Audrey Tautou (LOVE HER) called (I think) A la folie? Pas du tout. It was about this girl who was obsessed with someone, and became convinced that she was actually having a relationship with him. It showed the story twice: once from her point of view and once from his. It was good. And while i'm not so insane that i believe the people i fall in love with, obsess over or dote on love me back, there are times when i imagine affection for me on their behalf and - look, it still isn't normal so fall so easily to stalking people. Still, perhaps the spped with which i've become obsessed can only be a good sign. Perhaps by next Friday i'll have told him and been rejected, then be over him by Sunday, being able to find someone new to obsess over at Tuesday's meeting.

But then, as always, there's the little bit telling me that maybe this time could be different. Maybe i could charm, after all, i've got quite a while to do it in. Possibly next year too. And there's the part of me that thinks being pathetic might actually make somemone like me, or at least take pity on me.

I hate this in myself, i really do. I hate it.

I just went into the kitchen to make myself a tisane, and... i really don't want to go in again. It is just horrible in there, really it is. I know that absolutely none of that mess is thanks to me but that, i am ashamed to admit, is because so far i haven't actually cooked myself anything. I'm still living off flapjacks made before i left. But i'm down to my last few flapjacks now, so i won't last long. Especially given that, from time to time, i have felt the need to binge on flapjacks.

But i'm not supposed to be talking about my poor eating habits. (Which at least might make me thinner. Even on the bad nights i haven't eaten that many, and i've taken at least two twenty minute walks day: one into and one out of the university. In fact, today and yesterday have been the only days i haven't been in twice. And i'm sort of pleased to note how badly my most recent pair of jeans fit me now. I can pull them right over my waist, and grab huge chunks of material when they're where they should be. The only downside is that they have a tendency to slip down on their own as well, which is destroying the bottoms, now soaked and tattered from being walked on, and, if i'm not careful, exposes underwear and even, i fear, unsightly body hair. Also, where i used to have five unpleasant protuberances on my chest, (Two breasts, one stomach.) i now have five! Two breasts, one stomach and the edges of two sets of ribs! Not only have my fattest parts decreased, but now bone is even visible at some points. This really is rather an improvement.) I'm talking about their filthiness. Living in a flat with six straight boys appears to be turning me into a complete gay stereotype. At home i'm terribly untidy, disorganised and, well, not hugely obsessed with cleanliness either. But my room here is, well... tidy! It is, it really is. There are no clothes lying around on the floor, all papers are secreted in various drawers (with even a hint of organisation) and my books, all twice as many as there's actually space for of them, sit snugly on my shelves, arranged to fit my own personal map of how books live, much better than simple alphabetical order. I even hoovered my room today, the only person so far to have tried this particular appliance. The mop so far remains untouched as well. I shall just have to start wearing my flip flops to the kitchen. (I live barefoot in my room, of course.)

I have finally started Kate Atkinson's most recent books, Case Histories. I got it on my second day here, when i walked all the way down to the centre of Sheffield to visit my new local Waterstone's. I'm really enjoying it. I'm going to have to recommend Atkinson to as many people as i can while i'm here. (Weak ending, sorry.)

Darn. I wasn't meant to be able to blog tonight, not before the early hours of next morning. Instead, i was meant to be out having things happen to me again. I was meant to meet up with a girl i'd met at the LGB (I've decided, crappy as it is, she will be UY, the other girl i talked about UR, and my new boy to dote on UE. (The letters are all from their first names somewhere, as i don't know anybody's last names, never mind their middle names. The E of UE is deliberate, of course, to remind me, if nodoby else, of previous obsessions of mine and hopefully thereby to act as a sort of warning to myself, too.)) to see Lost in Translation. I haven't yet seen it and she assures me it's very good. As she also loves Amélie and Belleville Rendezvous i'm inclined to trust her. The conversation had gone something like this, on Tuesday: (I was by this point sufficiently drunk that i could volunteer myself.)

She: "Who'll come with me to see Lost in Translation with me on Thursday?"

Me: "I will!"

And so it was decided. I'm not sure if anyone else was to come, but we were meant to meet at the union a little before. Then, earlier today, UL texted me to ask if i would like to come out with her to the union's Thursday night event. I replied that i would like to, after the film, and we agreed that we would meet up. When, at ten past seven i arrived to buy tickets for both events and withdraw money from a cash point i discovered that both were sold out, meaning i couldn't meet up with either of them. Well, i could, but we wouldn't be able to do anything. I told UR, but i'd no way of contacting UY. Hopefully i will see her again, though, and be able to apologise. On Saturday i know UR is going to "the Big Gay Pub Crawl", and i think i'll go too. Hopefully UY will be there. And i don't think it's too much to expect that UE may be there. Probably still won't be able to speak to him or anything though. And a little gazing, (Leering?) both subtle and less so, will be inevitable.

Once i'd realised my evening was not to progress as hoped i set off home. Still, my day was redeemed slightly when, on reaching the front door, a girl i'd met a few days previously asked if i was gay. I answered truthfully. She said that the other day she'd had her gaydar (Still don't like that 'word'.) on and that she was gay too. I was pleased about this. I do like it nowadays when people can tell i'm gay, and it was good to know that there was someone else in the same building. It'd be nice if there were more, but statistically, two in twenty six doesn't seem far off. She asked if i'd been to any LGB meetings. I, feeling it to be in a way my duty to recruit as many people as possible who aren't P, said that i had, and that i'd enjoyed it. When i asked if she'd come another time, she said to come knock on her door next time i was going. I'm a bit nervous to, actually, but it would be rude of me not to now. Besides, she seems nice, if rather scary. She said she hadn't much confidence, and that was why she hadn't much confidence. I countered that i hadn't either, (And actually, she seems more confident than me, though i didn't point that out.) but that i'd still gone. Still, without trying to be P-like about this, it did seem as if she wasn't entirely a happy individual. I think she's the girl who i saw before with a series of deep cuts on her arm, much more horrific than anything i've ever been brave or upset (Or weak, or stupid) enough to do to myself. And she mentioned that she was impressed with herself for not having had anything to drink until four in the afternoon. It was obbvious merely from my face that i didn't really find this much to be impressed with; i'm afraid i might have seemed a tad reproachful. Still, i'm not going to try be 'helpful' for anything, because such hypocrisy can be darned annoying and she wouldn't care enough about me for what i say to carry much wait. Besides i'm acting my part of the ingenuous and confused naïf, (Never entirely a lie.) so it simply wouldn't do for me to go round dispensing advice, whether or not it be (OOH! Subjunctive! (I'm almost certain.) Hurrah!) any good.

I sent an e-mail today to the LGB society. I didn't really have any good reason, i think i just wanted to show that there's more to me than just a mess of low self confidence. (Entirely different to the low self-esteem of which P accused me, of course.) Yes. Now they can see i'm a mess og low self confidence WITH a tendency towards obsessive hatred and brackets. I'd probably have been much better off leaving them to form their own opinions, but the thought of UE reading my words rather appeals to me, although i think it's likely that he won't be the one reading the incoming e-mails.

I think i am well on my way to having an immense and immovable crush (I had to stop myself swaddling that word in inverted commas. It may be a vile and evil Americanism, but i couldn't do without it. Besides, i rather like the word. It's all that Paula Danziger i read when i was young, i think. She warped my little english mind.) on someone who i feel i probably shouldn't. He's one of the LGB committee, for one thing. He's a second year, i think, (I always say "I think" for stuff like this. Back in the early days of my obsession with E i referred to him in my diary with a vague guess at his name, even though i knew full well what it was.) which makes him a year, perhaps two, maybe even more, older than me. Not that that would be the problem, of course. I'm perfectly happy being in love with a fifteen year old after all. At least if anything did happen between us nobody would be breaking any laws. But, of course, in making statements like that i am raising the idea of it, much like telling myself to not think of pink elephants. And, obviously, the only way to survive love is, firstly, to not call it love. Call it a crush or an obsession, but not love, or you'll start believing it is. And then we get caught up in this huge tangle of 'amor vincit omnia' lies that society will insist on perpetuating. The way to survive love is to stop believing in it. I can't allow myself to believe anything can come of anything because, invariably, it doesn't. Not for me.

Over the past few weeks i fell steadily deeper and deeper in love with J, which is part of why i wrote so little in my blog. It was all going in my diary, as i didn't feel able to reveal my feelings to the rest of the world. Especially when the world contained him. So i never told anyone, noone that was made of anything more substantial than wood pulp, at least, until, a few days before i was due to leave, i had to tell somebody. I was feeling especially bad since he had now missed the third time we'd been meant to meet up in the holiday, so i told S and a girl who hasn't really been mentioned here before, for all that she deserves it and, being a part of my life prior to university, she will get a letter. She can be N. I may have an N already, but they weren't important enough for me to remember them, so i don't mind giving away the letter. They were the right people to tell, i think. S was the first person i told when i was first in love with J, and i think he understands and can sympathise with my obsession over small, apparently unimportant details, and N seemed the right person to tell because i realised how much i trust her and how highly i think of her. She'd also recently read my blog, or some of it at least, so she new about my feelings for J, just not, as nobody did, the intensity to which they'd now risen.

Then on Friday i told J. N, the day before, when i'd obsessed at her about something J had said to me said that i needed to tell him, because "I seriously can't cope with either of you being unhappy for another six million years which is what it felt like last time there were problems for all you lot". So on Friday i did. He was... "flattered". He said that i'm special to him, an important part of his life, but it was obvious that that was it. I wasn't particularly happy.

I don't really knopw what to do now. Should i keep hoping that maybe something could happen? He did once say, when i asked him please to categorically deny all possibility of anything happening between us. He wouldn't, saying he'd "prefer to keep that door open". That was frustrating. It still is, because i don't know if i should be trying to do the same. Do i treat our relationship as he seems to, a brilliant friendship which could be something more, if we found ourselves without anything better. That's what it feels like he meant, though surely it isn't really. I'm so confused.

Not that i'm debating this in a serious sense. I just want to know whether or not i should be obsessing over people, having just told J I'm in love with him. But i've decided now. I'll bally well obsess over anyone i want.

And that is... but of course i haven't yet decided what to do about names. It still wouldn't be right to call people by their actual names, especially not if i ever intend to let people here see my blog. And i do. I did think about going through the whole alphabet again, but this time prefixing them all with a U. They're all just silly ideas though. For the moment, everyone remains nameless. So, this chap i like. Already i really like him. And not, i think, just because he's good looking. For one thing, i know he's gay. Or bisexual, at least. And i like his voice. And i like what i've seen of him as a person, too. But i should confess that never a word has passed between us, not once in the two times i've seen him. Oooh! Wait! there has! He did speak to me, i think, this afternoon. We went bowling. An LGB bowling trip, with far fewer people than had attended the previous night's introductory meeting. This time there were only ten of us. Four of whom were committee members. One of whom was him. I, by a splendid turn of fate (And a step to the left at the right time.) ended up on his team. At one point i got a strike (Hurrah!) and on my next turn he said something along the lines of "we want another strike now". I went back to knocking down about three pins each turn. But other than that, not a word have we said to each other. Oh, yes, there was something else, just as i was leaving, but equally negligible. I do wonder how much of my new found dedication to the LGB society is due to him. But no, no, it isn't just because of him. It's because last night i had a bally great time, and i did today as well and i'm meeting some great people.

I wish the meetings were more than once a week. That's what they are, after the fresher's week stuff. All that's left this week is "The Big Gay Pub Crawl". I'm not sure if i'll be going to that. There's to be an LGB stand at the activities bazaar as well. I'm getting worried i may turn up to that just to gaze. Too much of my life is spent gazing.

I gazed at him on Tuesday too, when i could. And at one point one of the others, the other committee members, another boy, came and sat on his lap. I was jealous. Not, so much, i think, of either one of them, but of the situation in general. Obviously, yes, i would like to sit in his lap, were it not for the fact that i'd crush him, ever so slightly. But what i mean is that i wish i could be in a position where i'm comfortable enough with someone for that to happen. And maybe, one day i will. Maybe here, at university. Maybe soon. Maybe with him. But i doubt it, i doubt it all very much. I was just so jealous. But then, jealousy comes so very easily to me.

I ran into P today. It wasn't the first time i've seen him since i came. I saw him on Monday as well, though i'd been desparately hoping not to. I'd been dreading, on Tuesday, that he might come to the LGB meeting, so i was terribly pleased when he didn't. I was pleased when the seats either side of me filled up, meaning even if he did turn up i wouldn't be stuch with him all evening. Because if he had, i would have been, i know it. And i wouldn't really have been able to make friends of my own, i'd just be stuck going around talking to the same people as him. So i was ecstatic at his absence. But then, today, when i ran into him, he started talking about the LGB meeting. He asked if i'd though about going. I didn't answer, i just let his ego steamroller through the conversation and i didn't even have to lie. It turned out that he had intended to come but he'd got caught up talking to some spaniards. He knew there was something on today, as well, (The very thing i was on my way to being very early for.) and he seemed well inclined to go. Or 'come', i suppose the word should be. Fortunately, though, (As you'll have guessed by my saying that i enjoyed myself.) he didn't come. We encountered someone else from our old school while we stood there talking. He's gay too, so he got drawn ino the whole LGB conversation (Leaving me able to remain completely silent on the subject. (I had to, i really did. If i'd admitted to going then he'd have asked what it was like and i'd have been forced to tell him. And most likely i'd end up telling the truth. Which would have been a very bad thing. He'd probably have come and spoiled it all. At least if i can have a couple of meetings without him around i can start to exist autonomously, to prove to the otehrs that i'm my own person, that he is just some random annoying person who's wandered in to spoil it all.)) Eventually, the two of them decided to go off and meet C, who also came from our school to Sheffield. I've seen him a bit before, and i'm in contact with him, so i didn't think it would be too rude of me not to go with them. I stayed behind, hoping that this would mean they were unable to accompany us on our outing. Even if they had decided to come along, they'd have had trouble finding the meeting place. The LGB lounge is secreted away in a less frequented part of the union. Still, as soon as i got there i was terribly afraid that at any point he would turn up. Especially when it was decided we'd wait fifteen minutes longer than we were meant to. I was, again, the first person there, (Ok, not strictly true. There was someone in the office attached, but only because they promise always to have someone there between twelve and two, at least for this week. So he can hardly count himself, can he. I was the first person there waiting specifically for the bowling.) so i got out what remained of an old pad and started writing in it rather frantically about how much i didn't want him to turn up. I've thought about talking to the people there, as they're so willing to give advice about P and the unsavoury things he's done to two of my best friends. I want them to understand why i'd be like i'd be if he did turn up. But it seems to me, really, that would be rather an unsavoury thing to do as well, trying to turn them against someone they don't even know. I just don't know how i'm supposed to avoid him. I think i will try speak to them about it. But not in person, as i'm useless at that. I'll send an e-mail. There's an adress on the flyer. Of course, that can't happen until i actually manage to get onto the internet. I'm going to have a crack at that tomorrow. So hopefully these last three entries will stop being part of an imaginary blog and finally take the place they deserve on the internet.

Wow! For the first time ever i've been so caught up in things to blog about that i haven't actually blogged them. Now, though, after the marvellous time i had tonight, seems about the right time to start filling stuff in.

On Saturday, then, i set off from home, leaving, of course, for universuty, and on Saturday i arrived. My books, the absence of which had been barely noticeable on my bookshelves at home, occupied around twice as much space as they had been allotted. Other stuff came with me too, including my lovely new cushions with the flies embroidered on in green. Most of my stuff is green. I do like green a lot. My flat is rather grotty. I can't stop it being damp, which warps those books i'm unable to cram onto my bookshelves, and this bizarre fluff keeps appearing and covering everything i own. I am trying, and not doing all that badly, actually, to be sociable and to make friends. I went out on Saturday night with various people from my flats, and it was ok. I didn't talk much, but they didn't seem to mind, and i really like a few of them. We were out a little while, in pubsy kind of places, drinking drinks, but mostly not enough to be drunk. Not even me, who used to be drunk on a couple of glasses of blue stuff. Later, when we returned, i went with a few of them to one of the girls bedrooms (The girls live on the top floor, the boys underneath. Presumably, we are considered to matter less if we are robbed through the window right next to which one is forced to place all of one's valuable belongings.), where we watched Finding Nemo, drank a little alcohol and, to my surprise, smoked some marijuana. And yes, that was a 'we'. I have now sampled the delights of drugs. And they didn't seem all that delightful, to be honest. Probably i smoked it wrong, or didn't smoke enough, but it hardly seemed to do anything. I did giggle a little, but i think that was partly because i felt i should. And besides, i do have a natural propensity to giggle. But i don't think i can be bothered to smoke the stuff again. For one thing, i don't really want to be responsible for wasting things that other people can take so much more pleasure from.

Since then i haven't done all that much, really. There's been various stuff to sort out, but i mostly stayed in my room before tonight.

A little while before i left, Ms E, in an email reminding me of her three ideas. (Or rules, or tips - the nomenclature isn't important.) They were to talk to at least one new person each day, (So far i've managed this, contrary to my expectations, but i'm sure i won't be able to keep it up for long.) to arrive early and make tea for those who arrived after, thus immediately presenting of myself a helpfull, kind or somesuch image, (I failed in this completely. I don't even drink tea.) and the third was to find a job in the library, this having the double advantage of being paid and being in a library. I intend to try this, when i'm a little more settled in. But she also asked (Have i explained that i've kept in contact with Ms E? That as soon as i was pretty much safe from seeing her again i told her i was gay? Well, i have and i did.) if i intended to join the LBG society. I thought it would be rude to remind her that, actually, it's LGB, and i haven't actually responded yet, for the same reason there hasn't been much in the way of blogging. But, although i didn't reply, i did consider it and decide it was probably a good idea. I wasn't terribly expectant that i would, of course. I'm a coward, remember, and no good at organising myself either. But, when, in some student directory thing i was handed on appearing to claim my keys, i later noticed a small notice that had been inserted by the LGB society. They were to have a meeting on Tuesday. That's today. (Well, to me it is.) And i went. I did indeed go. I worked up the courage, hoped desperately that P wouldn't turn up, and went. In my zealous desire not to be late i turned up about half an hour early. Still, i wasn't the only early one and didn't have too long to wait. Soon turned up a girl, later revealed to be one of the LGB committee, talking to a man who reeked of confidence, who oozed it with every step. He had reason for it, i'm sure. For one thing hje was very good looking. For another, such confidence seems entirely able to perpetuate itself. People are attracted to the confident persons, and this only confirms his confidence. I used to want to be like that. Not any more though. Obviously this is partly just because i can see how unrealistic an idea this is, but partly because i do like me. I do, little as i deserve it. More people came, and then more, and soon the room was overflowing. More people, we were told, than had turned up to any of the meetings last year. And i was the first. That's pretty cool, now i think of it. Best of all, P wasn't there! Many people were there, but not a single one of them was P.

I had a tremendous time. I did. I really, really did! After briefly remaining in the meeting room, where we were introduced to the seven committee members, the aims, intents and modus operandi of the society, and finally each other, (Along with our favourite vegetables.) we went to a pub where, for the first time since i arrived, i got properly drunk. We filled up around half of the pub, numerous as we were, and even then we were huddled together around a few tables. I, being among the last to arrive, struggled to find a place to sit. After a short while standing (Why on earth am i going into such detail?) a nearby stool was indicated and i pulled it up. There were six of us at the table, of whom two of us were male. One of the girls was also a committee member and hence found herself doing most of the talking. Eventually though, we were all a little less sober and found ourselves able to converse more readily. I may have made friends of a couple of girls, i think. (Who, unfortunately, until i decide what to do about naming people (Having forgotten which letters i've used but being pretty certain that i've cut through a considerable part of the alphabet. (Often for people who didn't deserve it.)) must remain unidentified.) One of them i'm meeting up with on thursday, so i can finally see Lost in Translation, and the other one has been perfectly lovely and seems to have taken it into her head to mother me, ever so slightly, which i'm not complaining about at all. That is one good thing about pathetic, i suppose. People are more inclined to pity you. I gave up hating being pitied a long time ago.

After the pub we went on to Sheffield's only full time gay bar, much maligned (There's another one! Another far too overused phrase. Not that i'm about to remove it or anything. It's the one that fits best.) throughout the evening by those who had been there before. Still, when we got there, i very much enjoyed it. Of course, i have never been to a gay bar before, so i've nothing to compare it to. But i enjoyed. By the time we got there i had sobered up a little, so i had something to drink. As i usually do at any public gathering, i stood there, arms folded, chewing my nails, (Unwise, as i do try to grow them. They may look ridiculous so long, but i like them like this. I generally chew them so much that they become transparent, but i try to stop before they actually fall off.) but i was soon whipped out, by the girl who has placed herself in charge of me and the committee member (I don't like always calling them committee members, it seems bizarre and formal. If i called them leaders i'd be reminded of Youth Fellowship, ages ago, and i can't really think of anything good to refer to them as.) who had been at our table earlier, onto the dance floor, (Or is that a single word?) despite my protestations (Mmm, that's a nice word. Stress the third syllable, with a little sibilance on the 'S' for maximum effect.) that i can't dance. That didn't matter though, as i soon found myself trying to move rythmically (vaguely) while indicating that, no, i couldn't do that, ('That' being what they were doing. I can't remember what that was, so imagine it for yourselves.) however easy they made it look. I knew a looked a complete fool out there, but after a while i didn't mind all that much and began to enjoy it all the same. And then my new friend (The one who's adopted me - the other girl had gone by this point.) started, or so it seemed to me, marshalling people into trying to help me out, into showing me what to do. The attention was nice, but i still felt a fool. But at least i didn't let myself start believing anything anyone did was out of any sort of attraction for me. (Well, ok, i did at one point when somebody asked for my email address, (Me not knowing my phone number by heart.) but i soon quashed that thought. But it was nice to think that someone thought i could make a worthwhile friend.) Eventually, i came home on my own, grinning and hugging myself as i went. I have had a hell of a lot of fun, and i don't intend to have a free Tuesday evening from now till eternity (Or the end of term. Whichever's first, really.)

Something trés étrange happened this morning. I was having my hair cut. (My mother insisted. She feels that somehow i'll be better equipped to take on the vicissitudes of university life with slightly shortened hair) Well, not just a cut, it was being died and everything. I've started trying to defend the fact that i dye my hair by reminding myself my hair was once so blond as to be white. Previously when this has been done my head has just looked like the shorn scalp of a plastic doll. Now, though, my hair is long enough to fountain up and form a fluffy (And, oh dear lord, is my hair fluffy! It looks ridiculous, but i rather like it all the same. It feels nice.) dome about two inches (Inches are so much better for being inaccurate with. It's true. I do try to use metric, but saying "about five centimetres" here would just feel so wrong.) from my headWas remained of my hair was mostly occupied in tickling my eyes and nose. So, what with the rubber cap, my invasive fringe and the fact that i was obviously not wearing my glasses, I wasn't able to see more of the boy who came to take his place in the seat next to me than a trainer and a suggestion of dark hair.

I was slightly surprised, as this isn't a salon generally frequented by the male of the species. I go because the owner has cut my family's hair for years, back from the days when she cut hair in the same hospital my mother midwifed in. Besides, alt5hough i of course still go in armed with my usual reticence, i rather like her.

There was little conversation between myself and the assisstant painfully tugging my hair through the rubber cap with a sharp hook, either because she wasn't blessed with this vital skill of the hairdressing trade or because she had seen by now that there wasn't all that much point talking to me. Anyway, this meant that i was able to clearly hear the conversation taking place to my left.

Obviously, he was roughly the same age as me, as he was to be going away, to university, (I assumed, and was later confirmed in my assumtion.) The next day, Saturday. That's tomorrow, same as me. When it transpired that he, too, was going to Sheffield, i realised that i should speak up. And normal would have and, who knows, things could have turned out well abd i'd have another friend there.

This became even clearer when he identified the length of his course: four years, with a year abroad. Obviously, and here i demonstrated deductive reasoning to astound any detective, a langauge student. Probably, the way things were going, staying in the same accomodation as me, most likely in the next room. In fact, it was almost a certainty that not only would we grow to know one another, but that we already had.

We were only a couple of streets away from my primary school, only about twice as far away as i'd had to walk in the mornings from my child minder's. Of course, back then, i was half the size i am now, so it evened out about the same. I'd seen people from my old school before, even spoken to them, though never at great length. It seemed perfectly plausible that this should be another old acquaintance, with whom i would soo, no doubt, be reacquainted.

Not today, however, as he was now getting up to leave. But now came the question i'd been dreading. The shame of my silence was to be revealed, i was moments away from having my cowardice unmasked. I had the decency, at least, to attempt to show that i realised i had been silly when i answered "Sheffield".

What, it was asked, were we studying? (I wish i could claim to have realised his identity here, but sadly i can't, as that would be a shameful, shameful lie.) He was going to do Hispanic Studies and Linguistics, I, French and Linguistics. There, he realised who i was, and said so. I, know even more convinced that this must be someone from my primary school. Without my glasses, it took me a moment to realise that this, in fact, was P. Obviously it had been. He'd even told said, the previous day, that he had "a hair appointment" (I couldn't take this phrase seriously. I'm not sure i can justify why.) today at half past eleven. I had told him, too, that i had (I find it very hard to talk to him without a sneer in my voice. Any remotely neytral topic is seized upon.) such an appointment, but at that point mine had been scheduled for half past one. It had been moved so i could meet up with my friends in Birmingham. So really i was much more at an advantage in this guessing game than he. I suppose my complete ineptitude at identifying him just shows how very much less i care about him than i once did.

I know that, compared to a lot of people, my life is quite good. My parents are about as accepting as one could accept them to be of my sexuality, and things could be a lot worse. D for example, who always seems to be one of the bravest people I know in regards to declaring who he is and being true to himself. And yet he feels he can’t tell his parents because of how they will react. It seems somehow unfair that I, coward that I am, end up with parents who go out of their way to make it clear that they are ‘ok’ with my sexuality, (Though I do, as I’ve said, find the intimation that they might not be offensive, I know things could be much worse.) whereas D, who thoroughly deserves, through his courage, to be accepted, can’t tell his. But really I’m selfish, so what I’m actually going to talk about is really all about me.

My mother is convinced that, because I’m gay, I will never have children. I’m annoyed by this. I accept that it is unlikely that I will be able actually to physically conceive offspring, but my genes aren’t so super that I feel the need to burden the next generation with them anyway. I would actually rather like to have children, whether by adoption or any other method the medical profession may care to come up with I don’t know. But I would like to raise a child, eventually, one day in the future. This may be harder for me than a straight person, but it isn’t impossible, and it isn’t as if heterosexuality is a free ticket to parenthood anyway. TV, for example, is riddled with couples who can’t have children by the usual method, and it isn’t even as if, where I straight, that would immediately imbue me both with the ability and the desire to procreate. (And, of course, there would still be the problem of finding someone who wished to procreate with me.) And so the casual way she said a few days ago to my sister “I might never be a granny.” did really annoy me. I don’t believe she meant by that simply that she might be dead before either my sister or I are able to furnish her with children to fawn over.

She’s said before something… well, not quite the same, but relying on the same assumption that my sexuality has removed my right to be a father. I’m not sure, and it doesn’t strike me as something I’m ever likely to challenge her on, whether this stems from a belief that as a homosexual I am now incapable of having children completely (And this seems unlikely, really, considering that she teaches the midwives of the future (Although in a university she frequently condemns as one of the worst in the country. Her course, of course, is its saving grace.) and some evenings at the weekends takes up extra work midwifing.) or that being gay renders me unsuitable to look after children. I wouldn’t really have thought she’d subscribe to this belief either, but I am sometimes taken quite by surprise by how prejudiced she can be.

Still, having said all this, I myself am not sure of the laws relevant to the fathering of children by a homosexual. I suppose that one would be more favourably (Hey, apparently Word doesn’t like me spelling it like that. The Chambers Dictionary, (The official Scrabble dictionary!) however, sides with me on this one.) looked upon if in a loving, stable and monogamous relationship, so maybe she’s actually referring to the fact that I will quite likely die alone. Probably not though, as she is unable to accept this truth about her son. I like to think, though, (I did think for a while about actually getting some rose tinted spectacles, although more as a declaration of my credulity and foolishness than actually to see how the world looks through them.) that by the time I’m actually of an age where this issue becomes slightly more real we may actually inhabit a society that deserves to think itself tolerant a sort of equality will finally have been achieved and we’ll all be able to marry who we like and everyone will have the same rights as everyone else. (Apart, perhaps, from people who can’t spell (My frequent typing errors are a different matter entirely.))