All is quiet on the Western front journalism-wise at the moment, what with my return to uni (ish – more on this later) and the horrific time I’ve been having generally coming to terms with my big diagnosis.
My next post will be inspired by this post from Brighton Journalist Works, from which I recently graduated. It’s about how there is no need to take the uni route to become a journalist, and I thought I’d share my thoughts on the matter. This was inspired, in part, by today’s new revelation that the head of my uni’s Philosophy department, with whom I am taking an optional module, wants to see me for a meeting after reading week to discuss whether or not I should be allowed to continue with the module, as obviously I’ve had to take a lot of time off. Because, you know, I NEARLY DIED. But yeah. What this means is that if I can’t continue with that module, I’ll have too few course units to graduate. I can barely cope with the stress of my current workload, so starting something new from scratch next term isn’t an option. This means that essentially, if my spell in intensive care isn’t a good enough reason, I can’t really stay at uni.
Now, obviously, this was quite an upsetting thing to find out on my birthday. As much as I despise uni, I’ve been busting a gut to stay on top of things, and especially for this module as I find it really interesting. I’ve done all the reading, made extensive notes on the lectures and have even started writing the non-compulsory practice essay due after reading week, along with talking to the lecturer regularly to keep her posted. All this, yet because I haven’t physically been in lectures (on the advice of my doctor), I might be forced to leave.
That is why I am spending tonight, the night of my 21st birthday and the worst birthday of my life so far, looking up journalism jobs, copywriting jobs, advertising jobs, anything to allow me to leave university ASAP. I really don’t need this stress on top of everything else, and I don’t even care about the wasted time and money anymore. This is the final straw. I desperately hope I can find a job so I can leave for something I really want to do.
Happy birthday, indeed.