a blog about an Essex girl living in Swansea, chatting about baking, rowing, other bits and bobs, and some crazy teaching times in India

Sunday, 29 December 2013

Swansea, Essex, Swansea, Essex, Swansea...

When someone tells you third year is the hardest of all and you'll be stressed out a lot, you don't believe them. Not really. You secretly hope they're just being a drama queen, or perhaps they're lying to scare you a bit.


They're not lying, sadly.

Third year is possibly one of the most stressful education-related years of my life. Not that I remember any years when I wasn't in education. It's like you're forbidden to forget the years when you're truly free: those lovely years of other people feeding you (sometimes it's a lot of effort to do so now), wearing clothes that have a lot of stretch in them (I wish it was acceptable to wear more clothes with elasticated waistbands and poppers), and constant compliments on your starfish hands and chubby cheeks (if someone tells me that now, it's just an insult). I think our memories are revolting against us. We force them through so many scenarios that they are punishing us by erasing our beginnings. 

Fishy why are you sleeping!

I didn't go home for very long this Christmas. Instead I found myself booking a train back to Swansea before New Year's, case stuffed to the brim with yet more clothes from home that I really don't need, and travelling across London as the sales were in full swing. I'm sure no one appreciated the rather baggage-laden Essex girl taking up about a fifth of the carriage on the Hammersmith and City line. I've come back to do an essay because I have the concentration span of a goldfish when I'm at home. Three seconds if you were wondering. I looked it up on WikiAnswers, so it's obviously a hundred percent correct. I've programmed myself to actually switch on 'work-mode' when I enter the silent sections of the university library. Bottom floor, desk by a plug for my laptop charger, pile of books that I've lugged in from my room (I'm practically an Olympian at weight lifting now). 

Secretly, I sometimes want to tell the uni that I'm packing it all in to become a yoga teacher in India. Not that I'm qualified to teach yoga. Nor can I do it very well. But it's a nice little dream to have.

Look I'm a pro. 
Obviously this isn't me...

I can't wait to finish. 

Big love, xo.