It’s 5:30 in the morning. I just finished my final university essay of all time.

It was for CIT, that foul, useless, mandatory unit that’s been haunting me for the last three years. It’s a terrible essay. I only started it at about 11:00 PM last night, it uses hardly any scholarly sources, it butchers the concessionary structure and it spends far too much time defending the merits of genre fiction and only really gets around to arguing the point in the final paragraph (by swiping a few quotes from academic journals). Nonetheless, I am cautiously optimistic that it will scrape past with at least 50%, since all you need to do to pass in this unit is show up to class properly dressed and string together a few grammatically correct sentences.

Classes ended two weeks ago. This is the study/exam period, which has always meant an early semester break for me because I’m doing a bachelor of arts and therefore don’t have exams. I already had an end of university piss-up at the Tav, already spent the last few weeks discussing the weird feeling of university being over with all my fellow students. But it still doesn’t feel quite real. It still hasn’t registered that when I drive into campus and contemptuously fling this poorly-written piece of shit into the assignment drop box, I will be officially finished with university forever. The comfortable cocoon that has sheltered me from the world for three years has dissolved.

Academia is all I know. I went to university largely because I wasn’t sure what to do after high school. I’ve been studying and researching and writing for fifteen years now. People keep asking me what kind of job my degree will get me, and I don’t know.

I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life. I don’t know how things are going to turn out. I don’t know if I’m going to be a writer, or a short-order cook, or a tour guide, or an ASIO surveillance officer. In the coming days, weeks and months these thoughts will probably plague me. I will most likely feel the same kind of depression I felt when high school ended, the same ennui Chris feels all the time.

But for now, I’m not worried about that. I feel… well, I feel tired, more than anything else, but I also feel satisifed. I’m finished. I’m done. I don’t have to write essays on crap like this anymore. And while that also means that I’m moving on to a new period in my life, which is always a big event, I’m not really concerned about it right now.

It’s a new day, and I’m going to sit on my roof and watch the sun rise.

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