Home, sweet home.

It's twenty to ten, and it smells like freshly-baked cake downstairs; a smell that's wafted its way up here, despite my bedroom door being shut. I'm sitting on my bed, surrounded by minutae; some of it I still need to pack, some not. And in just over nine hours, I'll leave this house for two months.

My mind has been filled to the brim with what I need to do when I reach university; where I go, what I do, who I'll meet. I've been worrying, feeling excited, nervous, giddy - about my new life, my new friends to come, all the little routines I'll work out when I settle in. It's only tonight, as half of my possessions are hauled into the car and I've had to say goodbye to my neighbours and Nana and Grampy and set my alarm clock for seven, that I've really considered that I'm leaving my old life.

It keeps hitting me. I can't wear my big fluffy dressing gown because it's packed away in the car. I won't be able to lie in tomorrow, then pad down to the kitchen and attempt to wrangle something out of our toaster. I won't hear the floorboards creak mercilessly and hear doors banging downstairs. I'm moving out.

I thought I'd be crying, but I'm...I can't describe it. I think I'm in a state of shock, odd as it sounds. It just seems unfathomable that I won't be here for so long. This is my home. I've lived here since I was a weeny little one year old. This little house at the edge of the countryside; with a garden backing onto an industrial estate, and doors that seem to be in sync with each other. The idea that I'm leaving it for such a long time is, really, only starting to hit home now.

This is madness. I'm genuinely having trouble expressing myself, here. If I could, I'd be profound, but I really can't form the right words. It's an indescribable feeling.

I won't deny that I'm afraid. A familiar feeling is cropping up; a childish one that I seem to get whenever I'm far from home, nervous, not having a good time, any one of those things; I wish I'd stayed at home. Stayed where it's familiar, and safe, and comforting. Where I know what I'm doing and where to go. It doesn't matter if I'm in China or at a sleepover somewhere; that feeling has bitten at me a few times over the years. I seem to be getting it now. What the hell are you doing? Stay here!

But I know that it's time to move on. I chose this path, and I'm glad I chose it. And I'm lucky to be able to take it, as well. And I do know that when I get there, when I'm thrown into a new environment, and when I make new friends, I won't pine for what I see as home. I'll be too busy. And I expect that's the purpose of Fresher's Week; to distract you, to keep you busy. I'm sure I'll love it.

But, oh God. I have to leave here. The ropey town centre and the walk through the streets in early mornings and the bus station and the smell of books from upstairs at work and the journeys to see my friends in the next town and everything. I'll be back before I know it, but at this very moment, it's not the nicest of feelings.

I never packed a billion boxes and set my alarm for seven to chicken out, though. Tomorrow I'm off on a new adventure. Which is terrifying, and heartbreaking, when I think of what I'm leaving behind. Like my Dad said earlier, "it'll never be quite the same."

But it's new. It's brilliant. I had to let go sometime.

I'd better stop before this rambles out of all proportion. I'll post (and tweet!) from Lancaster, of course, but I had to get this all out, incoherent as it is.

Goodbye, Cheltenham. Goodbye house. Keep yourselves lovely while I'm away.

I really shouldn't be listening to Peter Gabriel's The Book of Love. It isn't helping.

It doesn't matter how many times I listen to Amy Winehouse's Valerie on repeat, or mull over the impending production at school on Monday, or even just get ready for work tomorrow.

I'm still not going to be able to sleep.

So. I've been working for WHSmith for about five weeks now, four and a half hours every Saturday, with a fairly large sprinkling of extra hours in between. By rights I should have earned over a hundred pounds by now. Checked my bank account today; turns out I've been paid for three weeks of work.

...yes, that is the sound of me seething. How did you tell?

Oh, GOD. I mean, admittedly, there was a tiny mix-up with the pay, as they told me, because they somehow didn't know which hours I had worked, despite the fact that THEY asked me to work them. Nonetheless, I went and recorded them in the appropriate place, and they said I would be paid on Friday. Naturally, I assumed I'd be paid for all the hours I'd worked, including the regular ones for five weeks. Evidently I was a little too hopeful on that account.

Fuck. FUCK. I made a tiny mistake; why the hell has this happened?

Shit. I'll have to go into work tomorrow and sort all this out. Methinks they won't think too kindly of me talking to them again. But...I haven't been paid, for God's sake!

Once again, fuck. Angry.

...and, as it turns out, my Dad probably is too. Just got off the phone with my Mum; turns out the Meatloaf concert they were due to go to in Birmingham is cancelled. I am NOT looking forward to seeing how disappointed he'll be when he gets home.

Also, did I mention that school is attempting to steal my soul?

Even this can't cheer me up.

Well...maybe just a tad.

Ten thoughts:

• GAGH. I am never watching The Shining in the dark ever again. Christ, it gets scarier every time I see it.

• School is confusing me a bit. I seem to love it and hate it on alternate days; on one day I'll be swamped with work, triple-booked for everything and absolutely adoring it, and on other days, my hair will be standing on end and my fingernails chewed to bits. It's tough going. Still...I'm a student. Not a pupil, a student. How on earth can you beat that?

• Happy Belated Birthday, Lisa! Hope you have/had a great time.

• I am sans internet, and have been for about a week. I can't quite begin to describe just how irritating that is. My laptop is just not connecting to the network, for no reason at all. This is being typed on my Dad's laptop, which I commandeer every time he's not using it. Like now, for instance.

• Work is going well. I'm on my third week and haven't been sacked yet, so I'm counting that as a positive. I'm learning things quickly, and I'm making less of an arse of myself every time I go in.

• Speaking of arses, I have learned due to permanently full hands at school, that they are fabulous at opening doors.

• I'm seeing the beginnings of Christmas in the shops. Not full-blown, but just little hints of what is to come. Gah.

• Hmm. Anyone think he's been liasing with Jeremy Clarkson?

• Damn, damn, and furthermore damn Russell Brand. We were all set to go and see him at the Literature Festival, and he went and cancelled with two days notice. Still no sign of an apology.

• I would really, really, really, really like this book. Hugely.

Right, had better make full use of the internet whilst my Dad is in the kitchen. Will update soon. If anyone's reading.

Rosby out.

"When God made the arse, he didn't say, 'Hey, it's just your basic hinge, let's knock off early.' He said, 'Behold ye angels, I have created the arse. Throughout the ages to come, men and women shall grab hold of these, and shout my name!'"

I start work tomorrow.

...shit. I know I shouldn't be, but I'm so nervous.

I hope I don't mess this up.