Jaded

     As you may have noticed from my previous, completely jaded last post, university is kicking my ass and handing it back to me, only to snatch it back and beat it some more. Third year of university sucks and the worst part is, it shouldn't be this way.

     Why on Earth did the HLS department decide it was a good idea to hold back all the crazy assed difficulty of a Psychology degree back for the last year? Why crank up the level of harsh reality up by that much? First two years equal adjusting and getting the hang of things, then as you approach and enter third year, they change the rules. They move the goal posts. They reveal that the worst was most definitely kept back for last.

     I don't know what I've done to offend the university, because surely I must have. Nothing else in the world deserves this sort of punishment. The never ending stress alone is enough to drive anyone to the brink of insanity, and my parents have assured me this is the beginning of life. This will never end. 

     Never.

     The thought of being stressed every waking minute of every stinking day is frightening, but that isn't even the worst part.

     Dissertations.

     That word is horrific. It brings me out in cold sweats. It will be the end of me.

     I'm pretty sure third year would be 50% more bearable if the dissertation part did not exist. In fact, dissertations deserve a year to themselves. They should never be put alongside other work, like essays and exams for other modules. 

     The rest of third year work, although difficult, would be manageable if dissertation bloody left me alone. I could manage the deadlines and the revising and reading, yet when you pair that with dissertation, everything goes to Hell in the most extreme of ways. You're pulling your hair out, not sleeping properly, feeling tired all the time, not eating, feeling ill. Screaming, kicking, then burying your head in the sand.

     I like burying my head in the sand, although that method never works.

     Ever.

     Mostly because while you're hiding somewhere (God knows where; my favourite haunt is my head) life is getting worse and worse, building up like a tidal wave waiting for that moment of craziness that descends on you. You know the one that makes you pull your head up for a sneaky peak.

     That's the one, and it's the moment the sea of life crashes down around you and sweeps you off to the End. I can't even fully account for the horrendous nature of the third year of a degree, but it is probably the worst thing I've ever done to myself.

     Self-inflicted torture right there.

     Why did I ever decided it would be a good idea to do a degree?

Take Me Back to the Age of Fresh

     Someone pointed out to me that first year of university is wasted on the Freshers and as I work-out, tired third year, I'd have to agree. Dissertations are hard, the sort of difficulty that no amount of time will ever prepare you for. The modules are a similar level of impossibility, with blagging no longer an easy option, although you can wiggle through some pretty tight gaps. You are stressed ALL OF THE TIME. You are tired ALL OF THE TIME. You even go to bed at a respectable time and get up at the crack of dawn to write more on your introduction, or to plan you data collection, or something equally soul crushing.

     You watch the baby-faced first years saunter in, all wide-eyed and eager as they take scope of their halls and the bars and the clubs. You glare at them as they finish their two day week at lunch and head home or to somewhere full of fun and freedom. You grumble as they make racquet in the library, or hold up the entire student body at a door they can't seem to open. They are everything you want to be, except they are rubbish at it.

     Freshers are unprepared and their ignorance to student life stops them from getting the most out of first year, but by the time you realise how to be a student proper, it's too late. You are twenty going on twenty-one, in your final year, headed towards panicked deadlines and job prospects. You no longer have the freedom you once had, although you have the plans and ideas you once lacked.

     It's cruel twist of fate that when you have time to do things, you have nothing to do and when you things to do, you have no time to do them in.

     Apparently this is a syndrome known as student pensioner. I am a student pensioner. I wish I could relive my first year and do all the things I didn't do and be all the things I never was. Except I know in my heart of hearts that if I did go back to first year, I'd probably end up doing exactly the same things I did the first time. I can't help it. It's just me. 

     So now I'm wrung out and jaded, watching those baby Freshers as they waste what could have been a brilliant year into one of learning the rope, regardless of what they say.