Happy?

I find it difficult to evaluate whether I was happy in that first year.  I know that there were times when I wasn't - most notably when lying, cold in my bedroom on a Wednesday afternoon, smelling the cabbage-like emanations from the cafeteria below, listening to yet another godawful rehearsal by the Hall houseband, having nothing better to do and nowhere better to go.  I know I wasn't during the third 'getting to know you Ball' of the first week when the music was too loud to get to know anyone whatsoever and  the people I'd decided to get to know better left one by one.  I know I wasn't when wondering how on earth I was going to get out of living with the people on my corridor in the second year.  I know I wasn't when I was letting L down for not being as into her as she was into me.  I know I was most certainly not happy when a lecturer gave me the much-dreaded first presentation of the year as an assignment - he'd taken an immediate dislike to me - it was on Saussure.  I know I wasn't happy with the morons who 'ran' the JCR of my halls of residence - with their aloofness and fratboy humour and behaviour.  And I know I wasn't happy on the occasions when I arrived back at my ugly, souless building, and looked up and sighed.
I don't measure my happiness or lack thereof by the intellectual stimulation that I was receiving - as we will discover, the intellectual stimulation that was being transmitted from the English faculty was the least most important aspect of my university life - either in terms of happiness or any other deciding factor.

And I know I wasn't happy when during a break between terms, E turned up to the local pub and 'caught' me smoking - she fled back to her car saying that I should go back to my 'proper' friends and my cigarette and that she'd never felt more lonely in her life.

But I know that I treated my unhappiness with a large dose of detachment.  There wasn't any penchant, any more, for sitting in bathrooms with handfulls of pills.  And I know that there was a large amount of happiness (and booze) to contend with too.

 
I know I was happy being the 'life and soul' of my 'gang' on my floor.  I know I was happy meeting new people - people who surprised my old friends that they were my friends now too.  I know I was happy being the first in line for the bar of an evening, with the bonkers Welshman from my corridor in tow.  I know I was happy doing the 'usual' student things of fancydress three-legged pubcrawls and having friends to stay in their droves (sleeping on the floor in their masses and marvelling at the 'animal house'  nature of proceedings in some quarters).  I know I was happy playing music, going to gigs, eating at Fatty Arbuckles and staying out until dawn.  I know I was happy on RagRaids - being one of those ghastly tin-rattling students in white coats and getting plastered afterwards.  I jogged, I went to aerobics (I went to hospital after one particular session!).  I know I was happy, going to the movies in the debating chamber, making new discoveries and never forgetting "Thelma and Louise".  I know I loved singing in the choir, on occasions, and falling asleep in my music appreciation classes.  I know I was happy, cycling (on the occasions I cycled and didn't leave my bike to rest in the shed) down the hill from campus to the halls, sometimes with someone sitting on the parcelrack.   Sometimes, in the middle of the night after a midnight showing of "The Exorcist".

I'm sure, on reflection, that I was happy.