I'm on the other side of the road now, walking towards the park. This is the way I walk to university and it serves many a purpose: it's the fastest way - an important factor when deciding any route from A to B; and no one else seems to walk this way - an even more important factor. I guess you could argue that it's more scenic, I don't know, fewer kebab shops but no wartime memorial.
But it is the slightly less concentrated number of students on this route that attracts me to it. Oh, how they laugh and play as they skip down the road towards another day of keen learning. Only one week ago I had seen my friend Katherine in full student guise skipping and laughing and playing as she headed towards Uni with her friends, almost unrecognisable amongst a sea of identical beings. On this occasion the obvious choice was to dart behind a dustbin and continue down the adjacent path, narrowly missing the inevitable mid-morning conversation.
It was a conversation in which I could see no positive outcome; I haven't talked to her in at least a year and nothing had happened to me since then, on any level. But that's not an acceptable answer to "So, what have you been up to?". You have to say "Well, . . . (insert activities here)." This part of the conversation would remind me of my inability to live and the connotations of the era during which I knew Katherine would only serve to remind me that life is out there and I am merely failing to find it. To escape down the magical back alley of tranquility was the only option.
Today is Tuesday and I am going to the library. My slow watch says 11:38 and the air is misty. I am hoping to pick up a book which may or may not help with my work. I turn into the park and see a pleasant icy sheen covering the grass, which I spoil as I trample over; the path goes the wrong way. Squirrels here and squirrels there. It's cold but I have a scarf.
11:38 is reasonably early to be in this position on a day during which I have no set responsibilities. The thousands and thousands of pounds I pay for higher education is spent less on lectures and seminars and more on the privilege of advice and book-borrowing as and when I need it, and the so-called 'university experience'.
My experience of this day so far started, for a brief while, when my housemates went to university a few hours before I came to life. This activity woke me from a fine dream, and although I can't remember much of it, I do remember explaining to my friend that cleaning our house was pointless and meaningless as I was dreaming and he was merely a character therein, and then promptly flying over him and away. When reality was thrust upon me, mid-flight, I certainly recognised it.
Our house is cold in the mornings, especially, it seems, in the area surrounding my bed. The shock of this inescapable temperature change combined with the knowledge that it is a long time before I can return to the bed's comfort creates a big ball of dread in my mind. I usually go back to sleep.
However, today I am in a park, outside, before midday and without obligation. Check me out, I think with some pride, unable to work out whether I'm being sarcastic or not. I can see the library peeking over the evergreens and a few people are scattered around heading in various directions. I glance to the left at a point on the path where I saw Chloe one day as I was returning from hospital. It was becoming weird because for some reason I was bumping into Chloe everywhere, each encounter resulting in the appropriate awkward conversation. The thing is, I should have been seeing Chloe this much - she was supposed to have elevated to 'My Girlfriend' status, but something hadn't been quite right and, sure enough, she had managed to get away. I never randomly see her these days but the possibility of such an event does linger in the back of my head, causing a quiet concern.
Especially in this area of the park. But the coast is clear and I'm on the final stretch leading up to the library. One more road to negotiate but I handle it with ease, experienced road-crosser that I have become. Some students are lingering like vultures outside the library clutching flyers for local clubs. Two things can happen: the vulture tries to give me a flyer while he/she unleashes a stream of encouraging and persuasive small talk designed to convince me to hurry off to the club in question post-haste, leaving options A. Force Smile and Accept Flyer, B. Do Not Force Smile and Accept Flyer, and C. Do Not Force Smile and Do Not Accept Flyer. Or, the second option, he/she looks me up and down, judges accordingly and decides I am not an appropriate target, hence I am not required to pick one of the above choices. This could be because of looks and attitude deemed unsuitable for the club or the possibility that I am unapproachable because I'm giving off an ill-tempered impression.
But, hey, today's going well and I'm feeling amiable so I think I'll go for option A, should it present itself. Wait, I'm in the library foyer, sans flyer, and I realise I have already passed them. I assume scenario two played out. I walk through the turnstile and ascend the stairs. The library is a busy place, even this early in the morning, and fellow students with bags and books circulate enthusiastically, mental sieves at the ready.
I have to walk across a room lined with tables, chairs and people to get to the book I need, a task equally as daunting and dangerous as crossing those roads. My style of walking comes into question, as does the dilemma of what to do with my hands. My eyes shift from person to person: hot girl, hot girl, bloke, hot girl, etc. I reach the bookcase I will be dealing with today only to find the book I want is not there. I activate 'indifference mode' and leave the library.
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