Laugh? I'm dying

Rude awakening: 3:15 AM.
Internet connectivity: Minimal.
Days to departure: 33.

I remember not so long ago images on television of a disheveled Manuel Noriega emerging from his villa after several consecutive days of unrelenting bombardment by light and noise. Confused and disoriented, he finally succumbed to the psychological warfare waged by U.S. troops and gave himself up -- the former Panamanian general's opinion obviously being that anything, including captivity at the hands of American troops, is better than constant barrage of the senses.

This is how psychological warfare works: don't' let those under siege sleep. Keep them awake and on edge. Grind them down. Eventually they will beg for mercy.

That's how I feel. I am worn down. At wit's end.

Except I won't beg for mercy. Because if I did, no one would listen anyway. The Harrow campus of the University of Westminster is a lot like outer space that way: a complete and utter vacuum in which no one can hear you scream, except of course the good and gentle folk who are trying to sleep. The other arseholes are too busy making the noise to be able to hear, and those who enable them -- hello, halls management! -- are far too ineffectual to do anything about it. Or perhaps they just don't care. Evidence is strong on the latter.

As a direct result of all this my body and brain are at war with each other. I don't know if it's my fragile mental health that makes me more vulnerable to the strange new pains I feel, or if it's those new and worrisome pains that are aggravating my rapidly deteriorating mental condition. But every day the panic attacks increase, more frequent, more terrifying. And every day the pains in my arms, neck, chest and elsewhere become more intense. And there are more of them in odd places.

As I told the school nurse last week, the irony is that the school work itself -- were I able to actually do it -- is the least of my concerns. I am quite confident that I can handle it and have, under the most difficult of circumstances, made rather heroic efforts to stay on top of it. I'm actually excited about and looking forward to writing my final project (if only because it means I'll be out of here). So I'm not at all stressing about the work. Far from it.

A second irony is the fact that if I were forced to withdraw from the school because of failure or for any other extenuating circumstances, I would have the balance of my rent money cheerfully refunded. If it weren't for the fact that I have already invested roughly $40,000 and have come this far, I would withdraw tomorrow. This kind of abuse simply isn't worth it.

Here's a funny one: this morning I went down to the laundrette and, passing by the halls reception on the way back to pick up yet another complaint form, engaged in this conversation with the receptionist:

"Another complaint? But we had our night crew patrol almost every hour on Friday, Saturday and Sunday night."

"Well, this latest violation didn't take place on the weekend. It was this morning, Tuesday morning, at about 3:15."

"Oh."

"Yes, it was strangely quiet all weekend. "

"That's good, isn't it?"

"Of course it wasn't quiet enough to allow me to work or sleep. And the only reason it was so quiet Friday and Saturday night was that the extremely obnoxious and arrogant little shit across the hall who makes most of the worst noise ran home to mummy and daddy for the weekend."