Remind me how this works again?

Hey, there. It's been a long, long while. A lot's happened, clearly. Too much for me to keep y'all informed. I'm sorry.

In this post, I'm going to talk about myself a lot. As usual. (Let's be honest. Who writes a blog to write about other people? I don't know why I feel guilty every time something I post something personal on my personal blog that I created for my personal use. Sorry, anyway.)

I am, officially, a student. English Literature with Creative Writing. University of East Anglia. Scary stuff.

The strangest realisation has been that I am only really inclined to make a record of my experiences, and share them, when there's nothing actually happening to me. And even now, when there's more happening to me in the average week than in the sum total of the year prior to my coming to uni, the first thing I'm compelled to inform you about is my sticky "h" key.

I have a sticky "h" key. It gets stuck. 

And now, onto less relevant matters.

I'm at uni. I'm at uni. Fucking university, I'm a student! Who let that happen, oh my goodness.

Freshers' was insane. The day before I was due to go, my sister called to see how I was doing:

Liz               Hey, Kitten. How are you doing? 

Me               [Incoherent noise of terror] 

Liz               You'll be fine. Don't sleep with a flatmate.

Long story short, whoops. (We stopped a long time ago. We're cool now. We take care of one another. The previous sentence was not a euphemism. He holds my hair back when I'm sick and I give him food when he's sad.)

In general, university is the best thing I could have done. I'm more social than I've ever been. I'm studying things I want to study. I'm independent, poor, idiotic and I've got an incredible bunch of independent, poor idiots around me to help me along. I've got a boyfriend who is neither dull nor stupid. I've got a place established, and people here know me for who I am rather than who I was when I was a child. I'm strong enough to make choices I want to make, and intelligent enough to defend them. I didn't know how trapped I was, in a village in Suffolk, until I got out - and it's terribly cliche, but I'm free, and I'm happy.

If I don't post again for six months, a year, and things have gone to pot - I've fallen to drugs, I've been kicked out, I've been disgraced, whatever - then let this post be a static memorial of a time when, truly, I have never been happier.