WARNING: the following contains musings of a deep, emotive nature.
I was sat here last night, yes that would be a Saturday night, slumped in front of the computer feeling terribly sorry for myself. With life having been a non-stop party since mid December (the Office Party and it’s free bar- umm SCORE- kicking off proceedings in spectacular style), I was feeling especially low about the fact that it was all over.
But I’m not taking about the inevitable suffering of January Blues that takes place on a yearly basis, nationwide; the realisation that it’s another twelve whole months before four weeks of over-indulgence is socially acceptable and strangers can be kissed shamelessly under the mistletoe. Oh no. I’m taking about another sort of blues. The type to affect that slither of A-Level achievers who shun furthering education through University.
Research would suggest; I am that slither.
So wise I thought I was when I took the, seemingly controversial, decision to do things “my way”. Gaining first hand experience in the working world rather than throwing potential deposit money away on a fruitless degree was a far greater idea, I thought. And for the most part, I standby such a choice. It has been a good plan. Sort of.
But I’d be lying if I said that the social aspect of my adult, country, commuting life has been, and continues to be, a struggle. It’s tough to see friends skip back to their exciting other existence; that wild student society of which I am not a member.
Then days like today happen.
Exciting emails fly in and out of my box and I remember just how much I love working my little leopard print socks off, forging a career that I can call my own. Never could such satisfaction be reached, I imagine, from attending a few lectures a week.
And as this enthused “freelancing”-machine, I can mock the Facebook moans regarding essay word counts and assignment deadlines. Just as my liver can mock those of my peers.
Today has been a good day.
*alights the night bus to Over-Share