Final year fear

One of my friends sent me a picture today of her submitting her final college assignment ever. Her time to enter the Big Bad World had come. Then it hit me: I was next.

My arse.

As I’m doing an Arts course, I only have three years in total in college rather than four. Some Journalism courses have an extra year dedicated to work experience, while I have eight weeks placement at the end of my last year. At the end of this year.

All through primary and secondary school, I would keep an eager eye on the class ahead of me. The Leaving Cert class of 2010. The college grads of 2013. The year before I did my own LC, I wished I was sitting in the classroom with them facing the exams. I dreaded the wait. I just wanted to be done and be out.

Now, I’m more than glad I had the extra year behind me. If I were to grow up (I mean properly grow up) this year, I’d give it until October until I was found in my flat half eaten by a cat surrounded by bills I had no idea how to pay.

Of course, Final Year isn’t going to be the major party I’ve built it up in my head. While many final year students have a thesis to complete for the year, my course sadly doesn’t have that option any more. To secure any hope of employment in the future, all my concentration will be focused on my journalism portfolio.

If I have any aspirations toward that elusive 2.1 degree, I need to work myself into the ground. Starting day one.

Ok, maybe starting day two. After I’ve had a welcome back drink with the people I haven’t seen since April.


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