Not even the lecturers are entirely sure what’s coming in the near future. Rumours speak of exams and assignments, but these only shimmer into tangibility a day or two before their deadline. Legend has it that after the month-long Easter holiday – a break that seems unnervingly long already – we will be bogged down with all of two hours’ lectures a week. Two. Our practical workshop, ending tomorrow, was the most time-consuming part of the work week. With that gone and nothing else in sight to fill the void, what then?
It can’t be true. I feel like I should be standing on a street corner with a sandwich board, hollering about the approaching mass of ‘un-stuff’. The terrible, terrible reason for this is simple: it may well click in your head naturally, like an unknown but polite dinner guest allowing himself into your home with a genial smile. After a few minutes, though, this guest will rip off his entire tuxedo along a single velcro stream, streaking through your once-respectable domicile, rearranging your furniture and mixing up your DVD collection. Only then will you realise the true horror that your casual open-mindedness has wrought upon your once content mind.
A job. I would have to get one of those disgusting things; the kryptonite of students, symbolic of everything a pure-blooded baked-bean connoisseur works (slowly) against. If only to fill the great bottomless pit of shrugs, I soon may need to throw together one of these ‘Calculum Bidet’ things I hear people speak of, and start showing it to prospective employers. What an unpleasant experience that sounds like.
