Personal

In second year, my then-housemates and I were discussing how quickly first year had whizzed by. In terms that we could really understand, we drew the most apt comparison we could think of: “If university was a cake, we’d be a third of the way through by now. That’s a lot of cake”.

Eating a third of a cake seems like a lot, doesn’t it? Well that’s nothing compared to chomping down on the whole thing, barely coming up for air, being so busy relishing in the chocolatey-goodness that you don’t realise that- wait- there’s only crumbs left now.

I’ve gotten through it all, the late night word counting and the early morning hungover note taking. It was a pretty bloody tasty cake, and I might not have enjoyed every morsel (I’m looking at you, second year exams), but it was all worth it. I’ve had the honour of being taught by experts, of meeting people who have changed my outlook, and of scoring 10% off at Topshop for the last three years. You can’t argue with that.

University = a cake. Duh.

I finished my final exam yesterday. That’s it. No more lectures, no more assignments, no more cake. Now all I’ve got remaining of education is that final glass of champagne- ahem, graduation- to wash it all down with!

I’m throwing myself a leaving party next week (or in other words: making a self-pity curry so huge I have no choice but to invite fifty people round to eat it with). I’ve packed up my stuff, handed in the final essays, and just have one exam and a one-way ticket to the capital standing in between me and my new London life.

It’s been a hellah busy week, and strictly speaking this blogging-time would be better spent revising sociolinguistic theories, so this post is just a teency offering to the internet to say sorry bro, I would blog properly but I’ve got stuff to do. See you on the other side!

I’m not really the kind of person who gets anxious.

I do panic and stress fine, better than most you might say. You should see me tip a house upside down in less than ten minutes because I can’t find a pair of glasses and I’m already late for work. But anxiety? Nah.

I’m more of a last-minute-high-temperature-quickly-oh-god-the-printer’s-broken-phone-my-mum kinda gal. Slow bubbling nervousness isn’t really my thing. At least it wasn’t until the joys of week three, term three, year three rolled around. Oh, and I move to London in just over three weeks. (Who was it who said “three is the magic number”? They can go to hell.)

I don’t think I’m suffering from real anxiety. Not as a condition. I’ve just got this horrible rumbling feeling in the pit of my cookie-filled stomach that what if- what if- I mess this up? What if I blank in my exam, or accidentally plagiarise an entire essay, or just faint in a presentation? I know it’s unlikely, but I can’t get this fear of failure out of my mind.

Are we all feeling like this? Is this what people warn you about? I’ve not been sleeping because all I can think about is referencing, and I’ve been feeling kinda sick whenever I try and settle down to relax. I initially put this down to maybe eating a little too much calamari at my new favourite restaurant Lucia’s, but I’ve not eaten any lightly-dusted Cajun squid in ages, so it can’t be that.

There’s nineteen days in between me and my final piece of work, and as much as I’m desperately trying to get it over with, it doesn’t seem very fair at all. Why should our last days at university, our last days in education at all, be felt feeling sick at the thought of failing? Of dropping one mark in fear of changing grade boundaries? I’ve loved my time at university, I don’t want to remember it as a montage of nervously checking word limits and freaking out when an important book is already on loan.

So, to combat this miserable outlook, I’m making a habit of RELAXING. I’ve started watching Game of Thrones (though as a means to relaxation I can’t say it’s particularly helpful, that show is tense), I went along to my wonderful Yorker’s lifestyle meeting to catch up with the old gang, I went for a sunny lunch with Joanne and I’ve more or less decided on booking a hotel for my first few nights in LDN to take the pressure off. As cheesy as it sounds, having a little bit of time to yourself in between JSTOR articles, makes the world of difference.