To my Future Partner

I'm sorry. I'm saying this in advance, because it's something that you should probably be aware of - in the unlikely event that you are reading this - rather than anything I'm to blame for. Cos I really can't help it.

I'm sorry for when you suddenly awake in the night, bleary eyed and wondering what the hell is going on. Because, let's face it, I sleepwalk. Or talk. Well, shouting, so I'm told.

 That's not me. As if I'd use two pillows.

It started when I was much younger, and has somehow still continued. Talking in my sleep is hard to measure - I sleep alone, and in another room, so it's rare that it's loud enough for anybody to hear. And strangely, I can't hear myself when I'm asleep. But walking's different.

At the moment, certainly over the last few weeks, I've half-dreamt trying to find my way around a strange room in the dark, with an unfamiliar layout, perhaps trying to look for an exit or a light-switch. And then when I wake up, I realise that it was my bedroom - of course it is! And yet it felt very odd when I was asleep. And I'm standing up.
I don't know doing it once it's put the thought into my head now - but it's getting slightly annoying after the fifth time. And I don't always wake up in the same part of the room, either!

When I was living back home with my parents, the most common happenings used to be going to the toilet! Or rather, opening the bedroom door, walking down the stairs (or in some cases, almost falling) and then stopped by my dad, ever present and awake, to tell me to go back to bed. One time, apparently I was running quite violently towards the front door. And on more than one occasion, even a few years ago, I've been screaming my head off whilst hardly knowing a thing.

And then there's been more trivial cases - aside from the odd feeling of waking up perfectly asleep but at the other end of the bed. In my last house, I remember being engrossed in some action fantasy (okay, I'd been to see a film that evening) and suddenly awoke, to find myself in the hallway, having unlocked my bedroom door, and with my awoken flatmate looking as bemused as I was.
In a later incident, I found myself knocking frantically on his bedroom door, before, as he answered, suddenly finding myself awak. Yeah, thanks subconscious! Apparently I blathered on about some maths problem. (Still, could have been worse - I dimly recall that by some twisted logic, I was going to wake the whole house up!) This is probably how very drunk people act. I think he found it funny. I hope he wasn't scarred for life, anyway.

The thing that's even more scary than what I might be doing when you're asleep... is that I have little way of knowing. It's become such an occurance, that I have to prompt my parents about it the morning after. "Did I wake up in the night?" I ask, half recalling what seemed like more-than-a-dream from the night before. It doesn't affect anything, but I'd like to know.

Five Quite Boring Things I've Started Doing Recently

For the most part, third year university life for me is much the same as second year university life was. Lectures, bus trips, problem sheets, filling mind-numbing gaps in the day... (but not, unfortunately, an offered job supervising first-years - shame.) But I did think of a few changes that I've started getting used to:

1. Drinking tea.
   
   Yes, for preposterous reasons, I'd never tried tea until a few months back. Obviously this was letting the side down for Britain, especially given my taste for coffee. But it's actually rather nice at four o'clock, as a mild, hot, cosy beverage. Even if I don't go quite as far as putting lemon with it.
   
   
   
2.  Fresh bread.
   
   Okay, so whilst I live with other people, I shop and cook predominantly for myself. And buy food for myself. For the first two years, I bought a loaf of bread a week. Now, I'm finding myself buying two smaller loaves, and fresh ones at that. It always tastes pretty good, especially the crusts, and it doesn't work out much more expensive. And in theory, this means I can get round the problem of having stale bread left at the end of the week! Result. (Tip: take packed lunches! It's so much cheaper!)
   
   
   
   
3.  Warming up last night's dinner
   
   There's plenty of advice out there, in our days of extra convenience, with the inventions of microwaves and freezers. Why not cook a great big batch of food, so you don't have to bother to cook it tomorrow? Yeah - but what if I actually like cooking? Or, if I try something new (heaven forbid!) and mess it up the first time around?
   Cooking for one is always going to be harder - although you don't hear so many complaints. (You should try cooking for six, in my first year! But at least then I only had to cook once a week!) In the past, yeah, I've cooked double and saved the other half for the next day. But then we come to days I have to stay at Uni late - far too late to postpone dinner. And I'm a three-square-meals-a-day man. Before, I used to just take another sandwich... which sounds a bit odd now I mention it. But this year, I've been using the (slightly dodgy) microwave on campus, and using a bit of forward thinking, heating up last night's pasta! Result! Even if it takes about half an hour to eat it with plastic cutlery.
   
   
   
   
4. Putting my hand up in lectures
   
   Because, obviously, I wouldn't be rude enough to call out. It's a tough thing to do when you're surrounded by a hundred (if not two hundred) other students, all watching a lecturer who's far more skilled and knowledgeable than you are. Hopefully. And who's, again hopefully, done the course before. And who rarely allows you to put a word in edgeways inbetween everybody copying things down. Normally you can tell a mistake has been made because people look puzzled, turn to the person next to them, ask whether that's a lambda, and then corrects it privately.
   You always have one mad individual in a year who asks the oddest but intelligent questions, which go far beyond the course... and I'm not them. For starters I'm too shy, and secondly, for me it's just pointing out possible mistakes in handwriting.
   But I do like to question things. Excessively and annoyingly, sometimes. I think it started in A Level - where I was conscious that I was one of the only ones asking for help. Not necessarily because I don't understand it, but often to clarify things too. My first inkling seems to be to ask daft things, rather than think it over when I have a spare minute. This carried on into tutorials - small groups of twenty people going over the homework, with the tutor talking about the work, and the rest of the group being in complete silence. Apart from me. (Tip: if you call out an answer though, try to actually have completed or attempted or even looked at the homework that week. Otherwise you may become very infuriating.)
   I'd like to think that, in a similarly sized lecture room, faced with a slightly incomprehensible but kind-hearted lecturer, I'm doing everybody else a favour by getting him to clarify a particular point. Even if there's still complete silence. Because if you don't understand something, chances are other people don't either.
   
   
   
5.  This blog
   
   Well, it's more expressive than Twitter. And I hope it's readable!