And so the junk strikes again…
Happy Belated Easter, everyone! Yesterday was one of the few days during the year wherein I was happy to celebrate life and all its richness by spending the entire day (Yes, the entire day) eating chocolate. It’s testament to the resilience of my digestive system that I could wake up this afternoon — because waking up in the morning is, like, so, like, last year — without wanting to hurl up a litre of stomach acid and the rest of my stomach along with it. Of course, I’m far too poor to buy my own chocolate, and my friends are likewise. So we all leeched four huge slabs of Cadbury plain milk chocolate off our parents and walked around the neighbourhood eating them past the point of melting. Fun!
Funny, how despite the stark contrast between the uni lifestyle and the routine of high school, there are some striking and irritating similarities. For example: Much like the shittiness of your senior year, university is filled with essays. Much like the shittiness of your old high school (God, that makes me sound old), the coffee at the uni cafeteria is sub-par at best. And, much like the lack of motivation you have in your final year, you find yourself four weeks into the first semester and wishing you’d deferred your degree for a year just so you could stay at home, sleep past noon, and not have to look at your textbook and go “OKAY. So I will read this (large) amount of pages today or I won’t allow myself to eat any hollowed-out Easter eggs the size of my head.” Ten minutes later: “Okay. Page 1 was not at all bad. Who cares if it’s only… *squint*… the Introduction…? Lemme at it. *stuffs face with chocolate*” My my, life is fun, isn’t it?
So. *clears throat* On a slight tangent, allow me to explain the full extent of the uselessness of my degree. If you — a) Do an Arts degree at all; b) Are, like myself, not very interested in the history of Australia (as if anyone would be); or c) Do not care about full-blown explanations that give me an excuse to make this entry seem uber-long, the following summary will suffice: My Arts degree is borderline useless.
But despite the above, the Psychology major is somewhat useful, and I will be at university for at least seven years should I desire to become a fully accredited psychologist and primary school teacher so that I will, later on in life, be able to turn to your knee-high munchkin children and actually have the qualifications to say “If you don’t stop sucking on your thumb in two weeks, someone will yank it out violently of your mouth, you’ll have serious withdrawal symptoms and that boy over there with the red crayon will want to stick it between your teeth to replace your thumb”. And, since the aforementioned situation would probably never ever come about (ever), I can resign myself to the following fact: “Xuan. Your degree is useless. Unless you want to go on to be a lecturer, you should have gone for Journalism.”
With all of that said, I’m still enjoying uni. At least I don’t get lost around my campus. Exams in less than ten weeks? P’shaw. The fact that one of my classes, which I thought I’d enjoy, is turning out to be a complete crock of shit? Pssh. Essay due next week that I haven’t started, plus other assessments that I should be worrying about but am momentarily not giving a second thought to? Who cares.
Now if you all will excuse me, I have another slab of chocolate to attend to.