Travails of the potential mature student (oh so mature)
It has crossed my mind of late that the pursuit of further study would be most appealing. God knows what I would study - English literature, psychology, education, journalism - or where, even, but once I'm learning and bettering myself as a person, that's all that matters, right? Mm. Well, such a thought couldn't enter my mind without the coupled concept of the 'student lifestyle', a way of life my parents bemoan when my brother and sister return from college on the weekends leaving a collection of used laundry and dirty ware in their wake. It is real, and it is scary.
I honestly do not know if I could do the whole college-house thing. The idea of filthy cups and plates piling up in the sink, cans and bottles littering the gaff after a night out, damp towels covering every square inch of the floor of the shared bathroom... The mind boggles. My self-diagnosed OCD wouldn't cope, whereas the bubble of ignorance in which my housemates would live would allow them to do so. I would lie awake at night plagued by the thoughts of the multitudes of bacteria manifesting themselves on every surface of the poorly-insulated house, or worse, the arrival of vermin keen for a sift through the overflowing bin ponging with a scent comparable to that of a skip. In China. On a hot summer's day. *vom*
Of course, one cannot mention puking without the obvious connotation to the word which is the excessive consumption of alcohol exercised by the majority of third-level students. I struggle to believe that my aging body would be able to keep up with young ones fresh from doing their Leaving Cert, whose sole purpose in first year is to put away as much cheap drink as they can muster while still achieving some sort of half-decent grades to ensure their continuation through their degree programmes. I'm old now, so hangovers are real. I remember the days as an 18-year-old when waking up after a night of heavy drinking was not the most onerous task known to man. Fast forward to the life of 23-year-old me, and I'm physically and mentally n'able for 2 days straight following any wild antics. Imagine the judgment from the young ones. Looking unreal for a night out too is fairly difficult when you have an addiction to takeaway, and you'd rather spend your money on cultural events and books than on bodycon dresses and club entry.
This may sound bizarre, but I'm not sure going out into the world of work has prepared me sufficiently for a potential return to college. The mature and sophisticated lifestyle I have pursued for the last 2 years, consisting of travelling, paying my own bills and going to bed at a reasonable hour, would be juxtaposed by the chaotic mess that is student living. How could I bond with my fellow learners, naive though they may be to the real world? I doubt sitting up the front at lectures and enthusiastically needling professors in regard to assessment criteria would win me any brownie points; safe to say all it would do is kill everyone's general buzz and earn me some scathing looks in the process.
Yet, having said that, isn't a second attempt at college meant to be for you, and your education, alone? Would I honestly be forking out thousands of my own hard-earned savings just to befriend people who value Snapchat streaks and a good bass drop more than ameliorating their own understanding of the world? Or to drink myself to a stupor multiple times midweek to the point that I send inappropriate emails to lecturers in the early hours of the morning declaring my love for them and that we should be bestos?
And so, the grown-up, worldly Aoife stands at a crossroads, pulled between attempting to be a likable legend AND a learned laureate. That is, if I do take the plunge and throw myself back into third-level education. Will I sink or swim? I suppose that depends on what lies at the other end of the lane.
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| Where o where o where are my lecture notes? |
I honestly do not know if I could do the whole college-house thing. The idea of filthy cups and plates piling up in the sink, cans and bottles littering the gaff after a night out, damp towels covering every square inch of the floor of the shared bathroom... The mind boggles. My self-diagnosed OCD wouldn't cope, whereas the bubble of ignorance in which my housemates would live would allow them to do so. I would lie awake at night plagued by the thoughts of the multitudes of bacteria manifesting themselves on every surface of the poorly-insulated house, or worse, the arrival of vermin keen for a sift through the overflowing bin ponging with a scent comparable to that of a skip. In China. On a hot summer's day. *vom*
Of course, one cannot mention puking without the obvious connotation to the word which is the excessive consumption of alcohol exercised by the majority of third-level students. I struggle to believe that my aging body would be able to keep up with young ones fresh from doing their Leaving Cert, whose sole purpose in first year is to put away as much cheap drink as they can muster while still achieving some sort of half-decent grades to ensure their continuation through their degree programmes. I'm old now, so hangovers are real. I remember the days as an 18-year-old when waking up after a night of heavy drinking was not the most onerous task known to man. Fast forward to the life of 23-year-old me, and I'm physically and mentally n'able for 2 days straight following any wild antics. Imagine the judgment from the young ones. Looking unreal for a night out too is fairly difficult when you have an addiction to takeaway, and you'd rather spend your money on cultural events and books than on bodycon dresses and club entry.
This may sound bizarre, but I'm not sure going out into the world of work has prepared me sufficiently for a potential return to college. The mature and sophisticated lifestyle I have pursued for the last 2 years, consisting of travelling, paying my own bills and going to bed at a reasonable hour, would be juxtaposed by the chaotic mess that is student living. How could I bond with my fellow learners, naive though they may be to the real world? I doubt sitting up the front at lectures and enthusiastically needling professors in regard to assessment criteria would win me any brownie points; safe to say all it would do is kill everyone's general buzz and earn me some scathing looks in the process.
Yet, having said that, isn't a second attempt at college meant to be for you, and your education, alone? Would I honestly be forking out thousands of my own hard-earned savings just to befriend people who value Snapchat streaks and a good bass drop more than ameliorating their own understanding of the world? Or to drink myself to a stupor multiple times midweek to the point that I send inappropriate emails to lecturers in the early hours of the morning declaring my love for them and that we should be bestos?
And so, the grown-up, worldly Aoife stands at a crossroads, pulled between attempting to be a likable legend AND a learned laureate. That is, if I do take the plunge and throw myself back into third-level education. Will I sink or swim? I suppose that depends on what lies at the other end of the lane.
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