9 days 'till Christmas. (I'm working 7 of them.)

I have destroyed my health. This week has killed my soul. Monday: concert then drinking, Tuesday: theatre then drinking, Wednesday: Maths class then drinking, Thursday: pantomime then drinking, Friday: much eating and drinking. I've been taking about seven Pro Plus every days, eating sporadically and unhealthily, watching online videos obsessively and revising infequently. The mess on my floor is now completely out of hand, I can barely get from the door to my bed without stepping on breakable objects like jewellery and CDs, or tripping over things. I have no future and feel thoroughly lost. My short term memory is abysmal. I can't sleep at night yet feel permanently exhausted. I haven't washed my hair in nearly a week.

To cut to the chase, I'm pretty broken right now.The pitiful amount of Christmas shopping I've actually got done is lying crushed somewhere amongst the mess on my floor. My parents are also infuriating me with their constant financial demands and snide remarks. All they seem to talk about is: when I'm going to cook for them, how great Christmas is going to be without me and when I'm going to pay the rent. And why are they so desperate for my money? In their current account they have £4012.19; together with my rent they have £5012.61. This is their current account used solely for groceries and standing orders! On top of this they have five-figure savings, a six-figure annual salary, two houses and very comfortable pensions. I'm happy to pay rent, but why must they think about it with such disturbing anticipation? Why must they bring it up at every meal? Why must they have anxious conversations about their money as though my cheque is a contribution against their impending poverty?

How do people do the whole going-out-every-night-and-working-every-day thing? Even without evening classes it's a real challenge. Socially it's been a marvellous week, but I'm ready to sleep for the next fortnight. Opening my eyes every morning is pure torture. This wasn't a problem in the summer working at the pharmacy, so either the farm labour is just too much or I've aged several years since then.

I'm feeling a bit chilly, maybe I can convince my mother to switch the central heating on for once, without being scolded for having no ecological conscience or preached to about the cost of energy.

On second thoughts I might just put an extra jumper on...
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But now I know I'm glad I came.

So now is the time I'm meant to make decisions. Taking a gap year was meant to give me endless time to decide what I'm going to do, but already I have less than a month before the university deadline, and there is simply nothing I want to study. Well, it's more like there's nothing in particular that I want to study, I have hundreds of interests: in art and music and politics and architecture and history and science and literature and languages, but this is meant to be more than a vague interest, it's meant to be a passionate financial commitment. And I should be motivated by serious academic study rather than the 'student experience', the freedom and the opportunities, the cheap beer and the lie-ins.

I'm having so much fun lately I'm not so bothered, but I'm constantly aware of things ending and moving on - played in my last ever orchestra concert on Saturday, and I'm visiting people at university and accumulating money that I'd rather not spend on rent in student halls. It seems to me that this country provides little for 18 and 19 year olds other than university: it's become a logical, almost socially obligatory stage in life, and this is disturbing considering tuition fees now mean there will be less people going to university. I'm having loads of fun going to exhibitions, visiting people, studying, earning money and having freedom; but I also constantly feel as though I'm in limbo, milling around not doing much compared to all those ambitious people getting degrees. Shouldn't it maybe be the other way round? Sometimes I feel like it's the students who are really taking the easy way out. Of course studying is strenuous (well, maybe not all studying...) but nowadays it's pretty much the most obvious option walking straight out of the school gates into university, taking out a huge loan and getting on with it. It's not that I'm trying to feel smug or self-righteous, but it seems more logical to me to get some practical experience, some self-discipline and of course some money before you embark on the whole fiasco. At the same time, why do people view taking a year out as some kind of preparation stage rather than an experience in its own right? Why is a year out so acceptable while taking two or three years, a more realistic time period considering the reasons for gap years in the first place (indecision, travel, money etc.) makes you some kind of laughing stock? Perhaps it's a form of control, a method of grouping young people together in institutions across the country away from the rest of society. A bit like young offenders institutes.

This isn't a serious argument by the way, just a stream of conciousness. I'm caught in a dilemma and trying not to make mistakes, but it's oh so difficult. Drank far too much coffee yesterday morning after not enough sleep and ended up in a total state trembling and feeling nervous and panicky. All I think about is what I'm doing next year, it's become some kind of fixation.

My desk partner of three years is leaving the orchestra. Went out for his birthday after the concert and had an interesting combination of drinks: Baileys with milk, Malibu and pineapple and banana flavoured Zambuca. Realised at ten past midnight that my bike was locked inside the town hall so some random guys climbed over and got it for me. Cycled home in the icy cold in my concert skirt. My bed is now covered with so much mess that I don't even bothered to chuck it on the floor, I just clear a human-sized hole and cover myself with blankets. Woke up far too early, went to Specsavers and spent £60 on a massive pair of glasses similar to the ones my dad wore in the seventies. I could regret this. But even though I spend recklessly, worry myself to sleep at night, watch the OC so much it affects my health and sometimes feel painfully lonely, I get by. More than that: I have strangely good time despite it all.

Maybe next year I'll get a farming job in New Zealand and escape from everything, milk cows, read books and find some peace of mind. Now that's a plan.

(A serious one, too, believe it or not.)
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