Grasping at straws

in a desperate attempt to find happiness.

Two years ago, I decided that moving away from home would achieve this goal. It didn't. Before that, I believed that isolating myself from human beings would get me somewhere. It didn't. Last year I thought that maybe material objects would provide me with some sort of rapture. Again, it didn't. A few months ago I decided that another move would do the trick. Yet again, my plan failed. Although, backfired may be a more suitable term.

Whilst I love being far closer to my catalyst than I was this time last year, the rest of my time is spent in a far more isolated manner than I could have ever imagined. Don't get me wrong, the time I spend with my dragon is wonderful - I visit her most weekends, and often stay longer than I should, but I am undecided on whether this joy is worth the price I pay when I have to return home. I am reluctant to refer to it as my home; rather, it is a room, in which my belongings sit.

I miss the friends I made last year greatly. To be able to knock on a flatmates door when some company was desired is something I took for granted last year. This year is so different; I barely know the people I live with, and am yet to befriend anybody on my course.

I lead a life of solitude, or at least part time solitude.

I wouldn't say I regret the move, but I can't help but think that I may have been happier had I decided to stay. Had I have stayed in Lancaster, however, I know full well that I would have regretted staying there.

I guess sometimes you just can't win.