Dropping Out

So I did it. I took the plunge and dropped out of uni, branding myself as a social pariah, destined to sit on the couch for the next 20 years watching repeats of 'Lost' and complaining that dole money isn't enough. Luckily, this isn't what I have planned and while, like many, I do dream of watching 'Lost' from start to finish, I would much rather do this in between working as opposed to instead of. See, uni drop-outs get a bad press. At least people who don't go to uni in the first place don't have 'the cheek' to suppose they might just have it in them. But drop-outs? Stupidly optimistic fools. I'm not sure if I would call myself an optimist though. Most of the time I find my brain battles between blind optimism and outright nihilism. Some days I find myself practising my Oscar's speech in my head, while other days I find myself wondering whether there's a demand for flat-chested, clumsy girls in any local lap dancing bars. So what possessed me to go to university in the first place?

Well, firstly there's the obvious reason that 'everyone does it'. Okay, so there was the odd person at college who would sit there filing their nails while the rest of us bit our own nails till they bled, frustrated at the sheer sadistic nature of the UCAS application process. But these were the people that we sniggered at, safe in the knowledge that while we sailed through uni they'd be shampooing a dog during their 'animal beauty course' at the local community college. Hindsight is a cruel thing. I also like to pin a little of the blame on all the supportive people in my life. The people who tricked me into thinking that I was intelligent enough for such an endeavour as university. Every time a teacher said to me 'You're capable of getting all A's, if only you'd just put the effort in' the smug little voice in my head said 'Oh yeah, I'm so damn capable'. Turns out that if enough people throw buzz words like 'bright' and 'talented' in your direction then it's rather easy to adopt the delusion that you'll sail through uni, completing essays in your sleep. Sadly this is not the case. 

Looking back at my reasons for attending uni makes me feel like a bit of a dope. I should have just cut out the middle man and not attended in the first place. But what's done is done, and I will forever be a drop-out. So how does it feel? Initially, refreshing. At least it is once the fear of being a failure all my life before dying curled around a rubbish bin, telling people that I could have been as big as Spielberg passes. But now I'm jobless, penniless and my naive expectation that I'd get a job in the first week of being home has been replaced by slight panic. So for now I must focus on the positives. Like, at least I'm no longer paying £800 a semester for accommodation. And at least I know that if I leave my laptop unattended for more than 2 minutes nobody will decide to profess my love of blumpkins to the whole of Facebook. Unless my mother gets extra cheeky. Then there's a serious risk.