plan

The library is a mess of strong hot coffee, furious fingers tapping on laptops, scattered students that stare with blurred vision at notes and books and bright screens. The finish line is in sight for most of us in our third year of university. People are planning graduation outfits, piecing together essays, polishing up on revision, and just generally desperately scrambling around trying to get their shit together.

My academic career, if placed on a chart of success, would resemble a heart monitor machine, with vast ups and downs. But finally it has settled. I’m finally a steady student. This potentially has something to do with the fact that my time is spread equally between university and home, there is no in-between. There are no bars or clubs or pubs. I recently discovered my Grandmother has more of a social life than I do. Which was a bit of a kick to the stomach, at first. However, I am about to finally get my degree. My Grandmother is not working on a degree, nor is she working, she is free to live it up in North London. Good on her. Her zest for life is one of the things that makes me proudest to be her granddaughter. She worked, raised children, paid her dues and now she is a beckon of hope that life continues in your 80s. She’s fabulous.

 I have wrapped myself up in a work filled cocoon because I know that is what I must do. Being at university and suffering from depression and dragging around all the rest of my bull shit is rather tricky and time consuming. There isn’t much support in regards to mental health at my university; I asked about mental health support and as soon as I talked about my history of suicide and drugs student services seemed to disolve like a salted slug before my very eyes. But I’ve squeezed myself into a small circle of friends who are compassionate and so understanding. I give myself brakes by watching far too much Modern Family and power myself with hundreds of cups of tea. I am making my way to the end. I’m so nearly there. Just a couple more weeks of madness and it’s done. The stress of it all bites hard. But the stress of my work load is not hardest part. The hardest part is (in technical terms) WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO NEXT!? I’m off to India in July which of course I cannot wait for. But after that, what happens? I will have a lovely piece of paper that tells me I know somethings about Drama and Theatre and a big fat lot of debt. Great.

So many get trapped in that vicious demoralising cycle, worrying about not having a plan or (if you don’t mind the Friends reference) even a pla. The thing that I’m starting to come to terms with is- plans very often don’t work out. Short term, like, ‘I’m going to make a cup of tea’ are wonderful, fantastic, go for it, make that plan a reality! But long term, ie- ‘in ten years I’m going to be married with a baby on the way and be where I want to be in my career,’ often don’t. If they do, CONGRATULATIONS!! In my mind short term goals are the way forward. They are the plan. Short term achievable goals make you feel fab. So, I am not going to do the plan thing this year. I’m opting out of the plan. I am plan-less. I have ideas of the thing’s I’d like from life, of course. But from the amount that’s happened in the last hectic year of my life it wouldn’t surprise me if I was living on Mars in ten years, surrounded by a friendly bunch of aliens, eating cake from the moon and discussing who the next queen of the newly discovered planet Zargon should be. Who knows what’s going to happen, and most importantly, what if I create a fantastic, mind-blowingly, wonderful plan and it falls apart? I’m going to feel like absolute shit. Me not having a plan is not to say that I’m going to float around hoping good things are going to happen TO me, because that seems just as foolish. I’m going work as hard as I possibly can, jump for every exciting opportunity I possibly can, and hope for the best. The best, normally comes from unexpected situations. The best jumps out you when you take a direction you may not have planned to take. Without sounding disgustingly corny, I’m going to do my best at living, moment to moment, slices of happiness, sadness, laughter, tears and every inch of life in-between. That’s my plan. Perhaps I do have one after all, maybe that kind of pretention won’t go down quite so well at family parties. Ah well. Fuck it.