So, there’s exactly five days until the day I leave for uni and so far, I am feeling fairly proud of myself.
I’ve sorted out my accommodation, found my flatmates on Facebook, collected all number of kitchen utensils and managed to even find a tiny, chic cactus for my room named Ted.
However, there is one teeny, tiny problem. I keep crying. Not slightly watery eyes because you’ve stood on a Lego brick crying, but full blown your-childhood-dog-just-died crying.
My hairdresser arrived for my last haircut yesterday and I got wet-eyed discussing feathered layers. FEATHERED LAYERS. And I don’t really know what that even means.
Everyone has told me it’s quite normal to be emotional. “It’s a big change in your life,” they say. “You’re bound to feel upset at leaving home.” Which I am. Apparently.
The main feelings for me are guilt. Guilt at leaving my parents and especially my sister at home. On the day my results came out, my sister’s Facebook status read, “When my sister got her A level results we cried happy tears, then I remembered she was ditching me and stabbed her with a trident…” It doesn’t exactly feel me with confidence if I’m honest.
But I am truly excited. So excited that when I remember I’m going, my stomach feels as if it is full of gerbils competing for the long jump. In a really good, not weird way.
So now it’s just getting ready to say a proper goodbye to friends and family. Which will be hard. Probably one of the hardest things I’ll have to do. And one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
But I’m hoping all the premature crying will mean I’m all cried out by Saturday. Yeah, right.
This is Ted. He says hello.