Don't worry, 'B' happy indeed
06.01.06, 2:32 pm

I�m currently sat in the main library computer cluster, making notes on a journal entitled "Don't worry 'B' happy!: a role for GABA(B) receptors in anxiety and depression." My, those whacky Neuroscientists have cracking senses of humour on them. It�s actually mildly interesting but appears to go on and on and on (Word informs me it's 3188 words long), plus the heating in this place is making me all drowsy and my sinuses sting.

I�m loving being back in Sheffield, because it�s all familiar and home-like. I know, I spill this kind of mush every time I come back here. Spent most of yesterday morning walking round town trying to buy some new earphones, after mine finally up and died on me. I�ve been living with only one working for about 6 months now, but they finally died a death and literally disintegrated. Anyway, I had to walk through the whole of town to The Moor, or The Hell Spore as I call it in my head, where all the shit shops live, before I could purchase some. They make my ears hurt a little, but I�m sure my hardcoreness can handle. Wow, a whole paragraph on earphones, bet you�re all glad you checked in for this.

After town I walked back to the uni and hit the library, the original fun machine. I have successfully looked up about 95 different journals and emailed them to myself, so my chances of getting a 2:1 are significantly improved, or at least they will be when I read them. It was a long and depressing task though, and then I bumped into Paddy, doing exactly the same thing, which lifted my mood significantly. He�s the reason I didn�t go home yesterday as originally planned. We all went out to the pub last night: him, me, Becky and Becky�s friend Jenny from home, who gave her a hand with all her stuff on the train. The pub is a good place and much fun was had, although I still smell of it today because I have nothing else to wear. Now that Becky is here I�m suddenly not bothered in the slightest about living in a deserted house in the middle of prime-burglaring season, even though it�s still perfectly feasible for someone to break in at night and murder us both in our sleep.

Paddy is so very, very lovely. He may just be this short, skinny 23 year old bloke with a vague Cockney accent, but he makes life seem more worthwhile when he�s around. Does that even make sense? He seemed very pleased to have bumped into me, which makes me think he�s missed me a little. Damnit, why the hell aren�t we together? On a side note, after spending last night massively embracing one of my favourite hobbies, i.e. talking, I�ve noticed that my voice sounds kind've animated all of the damn time. That must get quite irritating to everyone else after a while.

The girl on the computer opposite me keeps glancing at me over the top of her monitor. I must have stupid hair or something. Oh well, hers is stupider.

Becky�s currently doing an all-day bender in the Geography library. I think I�m going to stay here as long as it takes me to finish doing this wonderful journal, before running off home. I�ll have to return to Manchester tonight sometime� apparently Louisa, who is Ciaran�s on-off girlfriend, is staying over for the weekend, as she�s doing the make-up for Hollioakes or something. This is good, because more people mean my dad is less apt to making pointed remarks to me about, but not exclusive to, my laziness, my habit of leaving things around the house, my apparently short-temper, my revision stuff taking over downstairs and my letting the cat sleep on my bed. I can�t help the last one, he�s just too fat and fluffy to resist.

Returning to Sheffield properly on Monday, me thinks. It is then that the intense revision will begin� I may even start coming to the library every day. Wow, I feel so grown-up and responsible. Okay, must go finish the damn journal.

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