?!

Here’s the deal. All through first year, they promised that in second year I’d be at Charing Cross. So I got a rent at Charing Cross. The past week I’ve been at South Kensington every single day of the week. This week, too. I mean, it’s only three Tube stops away, but still. Hassle. It entails a 6:30 alarm when I could be getting up at 7. Every second of sleep makes a difference when you’re working yourself academically, physically, literarily, musically, socially and creatively to the bone.

And then there’s the content overload. There are twelve cranial nerves but somehow a billion names corollary to them that you have to remember. And the tests. And their functions. And then there’s drugs. No, you don’t get to take them. You just learn, learn, and learn. Names, mechanisms of action, half-lives—everything, in short, that you won’t need to know as a doctor because you’ll be tethered to reference books and the internet.

Blergh.

Okay. With coming out, I anticipate genuine nonchalance from most people. Oh, you’re gay? I never knew. Good on you for coming out. That kind of thing. And then I have a really close friend who slags definitely straight people with a compendium of homophobic slander, and I don’t even want to imagine how he’ll react when he finds out he’s been hanging out with a real live fag for the past year.