This is the end, the end of the winter break. Jim Morrison’s song has played twice in my headset now, and it is apt, because on Monday classes start again. We have to short days to fill with… nothing much.

We have been very social this past week. We even went clubbing. I enjoy a bit of clubbing now and then. I enjoy going into a place where the base is so low and so loud that the liver and the spleen switch places for a little while. And so we did that for a bit two days ago.

Going clubbing is a process, a sequence. You spend half the time finding something to wear, so that you can preen and prance. Sometimes I think that I should go wearing just trainers and my track trousers. I don’t think I’ll be allowed in like that, so I spend too much time blinging it up. Which is hopeless in any case because I’m not much of a fashionista.

Then one spends half the time trying, in the freezing cold, to get into the club. And of course the fashionistaing means one is seriously under-dressed. All this so that one can pass by the Neanderthal bouncers whose job it seems to be to deny as many punters as possible entry into the sacred grounds behind the closed door. Or to kill off half the teen population in this town by way of hypothermia.

This path of trials and patience then, hopefully, allows for an hour or two of liver and spleen bouncing. This until my man gets that haunted hunted look in his eyes, and his voice has the tone of someone pleading for his life when he asks if we can leave again.

My man indulges my fancies for some clubbing sometimes. Isn’t that what marriage is all about, give and take? Sometimes we do things he wants to do, and sometimes we do things I want to do, and sometimes we go our separate ways and do things apart because we couldn’t agree to do them together.

Like another thing I did, this time on my own because regardless of the love he professes for yours truly, there is one area of my life he won’t indulge me with. I attended an internet hangout with writers because, you know, sometimes it’s cool to hang out with writers.

Unfortunately the hang-out began to annoy me, because… I actually spend very little time doing things because I’m gay. I mean, snogging with Mark is nice and all, but it doesn’t take all day. It would become boring after a while, if it was like that, wouldn’t it?

So, when I mentioned Mark to this group of other writers, I quickly morphed into ‘the GAY writer Colin’. It was more than a little annoying. As if the point of being gay is to be an example to others, and to only do things in a narrow context that affects a small part of my life each day.

I then felt bad for feeling annoyed because I stand on the shoulders of giants, and a lot of sweat and tears have been spent (I can almost hear Spence’s foul curses of my whingeing now) so that people like me can feel snippy about being stereotyped. As if I objected to the actual gayness rather than the label imposed on me. As if I didn’t want other people to see the gayness because of some underlying conviction that being seen as gay was being seen as bad.

I left the hang-out after an hour without being able to resolve this curious conflict in my head, and I hope that nobody noticed. I am a writer, or so I tell myself. I am also gay. I like being gay. A few years ago, if offered a little pill to cure it, I would probably have taken the pill. Not now, though. So, I am a gay writer, after all. The combination of these labels do not condemn me.

And so, I spent the last couple of days playing Dragon Age Inquisition for the third time to get it out of my system, and it is. Mostly. I think I’ve done all that can be done in that game now. Every morsel of content has been consumed. Pretty good for paying full price. We pay more in the local cinema for two hours of a film.

The game has ended, just like my winter break. This is the end, after all, and on Monday I will trudge down the streets with my backpack and my gadgets and my books, and once more I’ll become the student gay wannabe writer who is occasionally a gamer and a musician. Am I a GAY musician? A GAY gamer? A gaymer?

Who the hell cares?