It’s all changing.

I don’t particularly enjoy writing about myself; if I’m being totally honest I think I’m pretty damn boring and wholly unremarkable. I’m no different to any other 23 year-old student. My weeks are spent pretending to work towards finishing my masters degree, and my weekends are spent getting blackout drunk and checking my limbs are still in place the next day. Of course I do other things; I’ve got mates, a boyfriend. Sometimes I exercise, and most often I don’t. In general though, I stick firmly with “life and society are far more interesting than I am.”

This week though I can’t quite resist giving a tiny update to any person out there that might read this blog. That in itself is a funny thing; I’ve always posted on here anonymously, never so much as mentioning my name. This blog isn’t linked to my Facebook or Twitter account, and yet here I am, writing to a bunch of faceless strangers who may or may not feel like reading about another faceless stranger’s life update – us humans are a funny bunch, aren’t we?

I’m coming to the end of my education, finally. I’m so ready to be done, I don’t think I could stand to write another essay – quite honestly I’m barely making it through my dissertation. Unfortunately, coming to the end of my education means my life as I know it is coming to an end. I’m leaving Brighton in five days time, I’m briefly moving back to my hometown, then I’m off to London to start a career I’ve always fancied but never pursued because apparently I’ve got zero self confidence and it actually takes me applying for a position I didn’t fully understand to fall into my ideal career.

Yup, seriously. After months of learning to laugh at myself, and opening my heart to consistent rejection before firmly concluding that I am in fact a total waste of space, I’ve accidentally landed my ideal job because I didn’t fully take the time to read about the position I was applying for.

Folks, I’m going to be a journalist.

This is both baffling and wonderful news. I’ve always enjoyed writing, hence the blog. I’m into current events, societal changes and trends, feminism, celebrity… Quite honestly I just enjoy talking and writing about the everyday changes we can see around us. So I suppose journalism is an ideal choice for somebody with those interests. As happy as I am though, I can’t help but feel like a fraud, and like I somehow don’t deserve the opportunity that has so neatly presented itself to me. I don’t really have any experience. Sure, I did a bit of work experience at my local newspaper on my gap yah, and sure, I write a blog. But I know people personally who write articles for various newspapers and online platforms that I have already decided would be far better than me at the position that I now have.

Aside from feeling like a fraud, I’m suddenly having all these doubts that I can even do the job. What if I am completely terrible? What if I get some kind of crazy exhaustion because I have to actually wake up at 7ish as opposed to midday? What if I become depressed because I’m used to being able to do exactly what I want, whenever I want, because that’s what being a student is all about (if you’re a lazy bastard like me, anyway). Most importantly I suppose, what if I screw up something that actually matters to me? I freely admit I’m far from a model student, and my attitude towards university has always been “do the bare minimum to get the maximum result possible.” Quite honestly it’s always worked relatively well for me, which further drives the “what if I’m a fraud and so far I’ve just got lucky?”

It is exhausting. But I’d like to think this is all part of the process of growing up and finally having real responsibilities. I’ve been putting all that off for too long now, it’s time to get on with real life.

Leaving Brighton is something I am greatly saddened by. Brighton has become a city I associate with happiness, fond memories, the place I met some of my best friends, and of course, my wonderful boyfriend. It’s the first place I’ve ever felt a real emotional connection to, and now I’m stepping into the unknown and hoping London will live up to the experience I’ve had in Brighton. It should, it is the capital, but leaving Brighton provides a risk factor that leaving Chelmsford, my hometown, didn’t. This time I have something to lose.

Finally, I’m wondering what personal changes lay ahead. Am I going to take to being a responsible adult like a duck to water, or am I going to crash and burn the first time I inevitably spill food down my trouser suit and can’t find a dry cleaner. Will I have to censor my Twitter account? Should I make my Facebook private? Can I still put a filter of a dog on my face and send it to my friends with the caption “never drinking again”, or is that now considered too infantile? When do adults stop sitting cross-legged while watching TV? Should I have already done that? Is it ok to live off Tesco meal deals or am I actually expected to make some kind of elaborate super food salad that is meant to extend my life and undo all the body-destroying I’ve done over the past four years. When do I pension? Can I still use words as verbs when they’re obviously not meant to be used that way? And what the hell is council tax? The list is endless.

I suppose what I’m trying to say is… Everything is about to change. Whilst I am excited beyond belief, I’m also nervous as hell. This process is only making me realise just how much I have left to learn. Ironic isn’t it? My studies are drawing to a close, and yet in many ways my education is only just beginning.

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