In the last two weeks I’ve been accepted into a Masters in Journalism at two Universities, published my first article in a magazine, applied for three internships, wrote ten articles, and completed two essays. I wrote 13,000 words in total. While this has been happening I’ve been trying to blog (hence the late release today), and I’ve missed shifts at work out of forgetfulness. Carb foods are now my best friends, and today I got takeaway because I’m running out of food altogether. I hardly live the high life, but I’m trying to position myself on a springboard to greater things, and apparently you gotta live a little pathetically if you want to climb the ladder. I admit that I want financial security, a house, nice food, wine, and furniture. I need to be less opinionated in my writing, healthier with my eating, more careful with my money, and straighten out my sleeping habits. One night last week I got to bed at 10:30pm, and I could not believe the feeling of motivation that ensued. It seems that in the past three years, I haven’t done all that much right in the way of saving money, staying healthy, and being productive. Overall, being an adult is hard.
How are the fit people finding time to stay fit? How do these students afford that nice wine with dinner? Where did those clothes come from, and did they cost more than $10? I’ve been going to K-mart and buying the same $7 tights four times in a row now – and I’m just realizing the sad reality of my life when I read that sentence back. At the end of the year I am working for Cosmopolitan magazine, and I’ve somehow got to pull out a weeks’ worth of clothes with no holes in them in order to look like one of these designer-clad women. My problems aren’t really problems – I am just baffled that anyone can live in Sydney at all without a little bit of pathetic-ness on the side. In the shadows I eat like crap, I stay up too late, and I go shopping once a month on $60. To me it seems that most of the kids that live on campus just barely scrape by as it is, and we’re all just pretending to look really cool when high-school kids visit uni campus.
My day clothes say:
Yes, look at me with my skim latte and my black laptop bag. I didn’t get a fancy one from Sportsgirl because I’m an academic – I have more important things to do. You could be like me. You too, could walk to class with fanciful aspirations of grandeur and financial stability in all your future endeavors. Perhaps one day you will even settle down, but not before you reach my level of academically mature prowess.
My stay-at-home-all-day clothes say:
When I call my dad to say what I’ve done with my life since we last spoke, it usually goes along the lines of:
“Have you got many shifts at work?”
“Not really, but I don’t want to get another job until I finish my BA, I really just want to concentrate on uni.”
When I call mum all I can say is: