In the middle of my poetry seminar, my best friend from home texted me: “The amount of fun you are having at uni makes me very happy.” I was about to have a horribly out-of-the-blue panic attack, but apart from that, I was having fun. I am having fun. I don’t know how to write about fun, really—it’s so much easier to write about a boy or about loneliness, sadness or anxiety. How, oh fuck, I actually managed to get to university! I forced myself into my packed car even though I felt on the verge on throwing up and like the whole world was about to collapse and me and my boyfriend had split up the day before. And now I am here, having fun and getting used to it. I don’t have as much time to think and dwell, so my thoughts don’t have a chance to crystallise. Life isn’t as much about introspection. I have enough of that when I go home. I am having fun here. I don’t even know how that happened. ♦