My parents are these weird creatures that can let me be for weeks and months at a time until I start to feel relaxed, and then they’ll zoom in on some detail and become totally obsessed about it.

I talk to my mother every other day or so for twenty minutes or so; and I talk to my father about once every two weeks to fill him in. A week or so ago, mum and I talked about my schooling, and I admitted that I didn’t feel as enthusiastic as I had thought.

I admitted that I was more in a mode of ‘grin and bear it’ because I need a degree, but that I wasn’t fired up by amazing teachers or interesting research. Apart from Ben, and less so Abbie, and a couple of the girls, the other students on the whole doesn’t seem that interested in the subject of English literature.

This makes me less enthusiastic about working with these other students, and so I don’t really include them in my life in any greater capacity. I keep to my little circle of friends and allies, and don’t even involve myself in the antics and the shenanigans. They just don’t interest me that much, and that means that they depress my interest in the subject.

The admission to my mother just shows that I can be incredibly stupid at times because by now I should know that if I want peace of mind, I can’t tell my parents things like that; particularly not things that have to do with my education. I should know, by now, that anything but full dedication and faked enthusiasm will make the phone lines go warm as they build up a disaster response to a disaster theory.

Therefore, having told my mother about my lack of enthusiasm, my dad called me to tell me to grow up and become as mature as my age require. I should stop fooling around, and I should start to take things more seriously. Particularly since I pay nine thousand per year for the chance to study, something many others my age aren’t able to do. You know the line.

I haven’t been told to grow up by my father in a while, so I feel as if I’m regressing to being fifteen again. But then my mother calls, again, and asks if I’ve spoken to dad. And I just know they’ve been on the phone, laying plans to counter the ‘disaster’ of Colin skiving off or whatever they think. I’m sure my Auntie has been consulted too, since she lives here in this town.

Crisis meeting in the family: what to do about that lazy, irresponsible, immature Colin who ought to smile and jump out of bed in the morning, ready for the privilege of a higher education. It is really amazing how they can take a throw-away line I say and spin a whole pre-apocalyptic story arc out of that line.