Strange feelings on this June afternoon. Having been home since Saturday, I’m still trying to shift out of the student paradigm, and face up to the realities of being short on cash, returning to the Old Job, and still having innumerable tasks to take care of.
Saturday was weird (as was Friday Night: Stoned Adventures in the UV Room, but that’s another story). My “I’m pretty sure I could tear this whole room down in 2 hours” contingency turned, predictably, into reality (as tends to happen when large amounts of alcohol are imbibed instead of packing), so I got up around 7am and, breakfastless for the fourth consecutive day, wandered over to campus to retrieve my car. I arrived back just in time to see Josh and Andrea off to catch their red-eye out of Birmingham, and then I had the place to myself.
And thus began the packing up of the last year of my life which had, like a giant uncoiling spring, gradually spread itself in increasing depth across the room. The posters alone took about an hour to take down, so needless to say by the time my father arrived I was not too far in to the task. I managed to rustle up some coffee, and in true boy-scout style he managed to locate what must have been the last edible breakfasty-type food in the kitchen: four burger buns. In about two hours we packed the rest of my stuff, and managed to fit that — and the assorted crap I had kindly agreed to take for my flatmates — into his and my cars.
Walking down those hallways for the last time — to drop off my keys — felt utterly strange. The place had become completely dehumanized — everyone else had left; no more strange cooking smells emanating from the flats, no more strange sounds from behind closed doors. I solemnly checked our mailbox for the last time, dropped my keys into the designated box, and that was it. So long, Lakeside. Never again shall I run screaming down your corridors in the dead of night; no more shall I scar your walls with unicycle, football and diabolo; no more shall I explode beer cans in your bathrooms.
It was a nasty feeling to say the least. From this point on we are out on our own, no more underpaid cleaning staff to clear up the big bits after our screaming, vomiting, bottle-smashing passage, no more regular linen change, bathroom clean, safe haven by the water. It’s up to us next year, God help us.