The idea that everyone has a great time at college is one of the pervasive myths. I had a letter from my old college last year inviting me to an official reunion. It sent me back to my college notebooks where I found this poem which I’ve turned into a song via mixter enablers.

Still I shrink from a drink with the lads
Still I’ve failed in my mission to have a few beers
Still I don’t speculate about what goes on in their heads
Still I don’t want to hear about their future careers
Still I can’t think straight from anxiety
Still I’m writing with a worn-down stub
Still I shun the debating society
Still I haven’t joined the poetry club

Still I don’t know what I’m for
Still I write it all down and I put it away in a drawer
Soon there’ll be a new broom I assume
Still I try to avoid the utility room

Still I’m immune to new sensations
Still I replace relations with a book list
Still I’m driven mad by my own limitations
Still I’m too nervous to even exist
Still the stairwell feels airless
Still there’s no one but me in this bed
Still I’m too careful to be careless
Still my thoughts press down like a sarcophagus lid

Still I don’t know what I’m for
Still I write it all down and I put it away in a drawer
Soon there’ll be a new broom I assume
Still I try to avoid the utility room