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?