Third year of uni; the rumours are true!

As I finish up week four of my third and final year of university, I sit down in my room at university reading academia, craving for the Friday night to come sooner than ever before. The Friday night whereby I sit with my housemates and drink infinite pints of £2 crappy beer like zombies all brain-fried and and in need of some reassurance that it's all going to be OK.

As I went through first and second year, I became increasingly aware of the moans and groans of the third years, claiming that we didn't know how good we had it. And to be honest, I didn't take much notice of it. I carried on throughout those two years working at around 80% effort (maybe 70% in first year) and carried on enjoying the mid-week boozing and the relatively controllable workload.

But now as I write this post, I sit at a desk inundated with books that I have read numerous chapters of. Piles of paper with scribbles and notes on. And even a 'to-do list' to make sure I don't steer off track from my studies.

To be frank, it all sucks! There is a level of responsibility upon my shoulders which I have never had to endure before and it is exhausting.

• The endless reading I am having to find and do for my dissertation.
• The planning of my screenwriting, linguistic and career-planning coursework. 
• The searching for graduate jobs. 
• The writing of the novel I am working on.- Strictly not related to third year but work nonetheless.

Myself in a better time

It's relentless!

I can hardly fathom that I have been at university for over two years and that I am finally the 'old student'. The student who I would laugh at in first and second year and almost pity, knowing I had it so much better than them. But somehow, after some sort of hazy dream of drinking and partying, I have woken up to the harsh reality that I am about to complete the most important year of my life. 

I have the pressure that now, in my final year of education, I could possibly make or break my future career. And that if I were to muck it up, there would be thousands of pounds of tuition fees hanging around my like a neverending, always potent fart.

Everything just seems to be in context now and the bareness of my future is so close that it excites me and terrifies me in the sort of way a rollercoaster does. I know it will be worth the effort but there is still a chance I'm going to vomit all over myself in the process. 

Just finding it funny how I once did a post about wishing to be a fresher once more but now, as I look around at the books, notes and endless words, I realise how far off my wish was. Now I beg to be one.