I have it all planned. Over the past two weeks occupational decisions have been made, I have researched my options, found the ideal career to pursue and printed off the appropriate application forms. I was almost surprised I had not figured it out before. I have found a job with my name written all over it and no it’s not a wine taster or strip club owner (but actually they could be a good back up plan). My new found career is creative, energetic, people orientated and has nothing to do with data migration or system upgrades. There is just one minor obstacle, in order to actually get the job I am destined to do, I need to go back to school!
Work quickly became bearable and when summoned up north again, I was not overly enthusiastic but decided the time on the train would in itself give me an opportunity to complete the University application form. To really make the trip extra bearable I decided it is time to get off the fence, stop talking about dating and finally ask out a very attractive girl I recently met. She said yes and the date was set. So, now I have a new career path, a date and an insane grin plastered across my face. People ask ‘why so happy?’ followed swiftly by ‘for the love of god please stop singing’ and what do I do? I momentarily stop singing badly and tell everyone and anyone who will listen about my exciting news!
Sitting on the train and after several cups of coffee, I can not procrastinate any longer and the course form is waiting for me to carefully articulate how my personal skills, previous experience and academic interests will support my application. Reading the supporting information, I come across section 7. Payment of fees... arh, OK, before I do anything I need to work out how I can afford to quit my job, closet the Next suits, dye my hair purple and get stoned on a daily basis. After thirty minutes, some figures scribbled on the back of my council tax final demand it’s apparent that if I work everyday from now until September, cut out all luxuries (i.e. food) and double my housemates rent, I still can not afford six months fees and living, let alone two years studying.
Contemplating the fact part-time jobs, loans and holiday work will just about see me through, my phone flashes showing an unknown number. It’s the course convener who I emailed during my research. I make my apologies about the potential lack of reception and begin asking questions. He quickly interrupts and asks about my experience regarding a pre-requisite for the course. To not bore and to summarise the conversation, he explains they will not even look at my application until next year. I calmly argue my case but to no avail. Whilst talking my phone again buzzes but this time alerting me I have a text message. Feeling teary I finish the conversation, read the text and in less than one hundred and fifty characters I am informed, that due to genuine circumstances, my Friday night date is cancelled. Oh bollocks!
My Dad has always been a big sports fan and growing up we were practically banned from asking the question ‘who’s winning?’. Dad would always respond ‘Ssh you’ll jinx it’ as his favourite team let in the winning goal! I often repeat those few words but for some reason I never listen to my own advice. I find if I have a thought or idea, however trivial, then you can guarantee within seconds I will tell the world. Did I jinx all my plans by not keeping quiet? Or are obstacles just an inconvenience masking a positive waiting around the corner?
After a weekend feeling slightly deflated I have now paid my council tax, am revisiting the future career drawing board and have rearranged my date. I of course can not mention any of these plan’s as do not want to jinx anything. But I can say, Stringfellow’s will still employ me so looks like my back up plan will come to fruition!