‘I’m terrified of graduating from Uni.’

I’m freaking out, you guys.




I graduate from Uni at the end of this year. Which sounds like it’s a while away until I remember that we’re in October now and that Coles is probably already playing Mariah Carey’s Christmas Album.

Graduation is close enough that I already got my invitation in the mail. It’s sitting on the kitchen table and I’m too much of a, errrr, baby cat to even open it.

Like no, this is too freaking soon. I HAVEN’T LIVED YET. I’m not ready to be dragged down into the deep abyss of full-time employment. I don’t want to give up my concession card and have to pay the Dark Overlords of Melbourne (AKA: Myki Ticket Inspectors) a full-fare whenever I take the train. I don’t want to do my taxes and not get a full refund. I don’t want to face the reality that I will never see my Hot Politics Tutor again, who really isn’t even hot he’s only hot because he’s my tutor and I dunno that just does something for me. (His hair is like a flame of auburn and orange and he’s just circumstantially divine ya know?)

You totally know. There’s always a tutor who is only hot by circumstance. Kinda like Contiki Tour Managers or Ron Weasley or Doctors or men in beanies (mmmmm men in beanies).

Talk dirty to me.

Talk dirty to me.

Also, I’m in a course that is 95.78% women, so the sight of a man is the equivalent of seeing a girl in an Engineering course.

Anyway, Circumstantially Hot Politics Tutor always catches me staring at his glorious beard. It’s kinda obvious that he’s not into me though because he looks at me like I’m the kind of girl who sniffs permanent textas for fun (I only did that one time I swear), so it’s probably not gonna work out. Anyway you’ve all completely gotten me off track and you’re missing the main point.

MAIN POINT: I graduate soon, and I am so freaking scared. More scared than I will be if Richie is Sam Frost’s chosen suitor, which will mean that I will end up forever alone because my soul mate (Richie) accidentally fell in love with the wrong girl (Sam Frost) instead of the right one (me).

MAIN POINT DE-WEIRDIFIED: I’m scared about graduating from University. I have a habit of developing unhealthy crushes on unattainable men.

richie bachelorette

MMMMMMMMMMM *Insert crude sexual innuendo about cool bananas*.

The dumb thing is I’ve spent the bulk of this semester telling every man and his Siamese Fighting Fish how excited I am to finish, how my course is irrelevant to my dream career, how I can’t wait for the sweet kiss of freedom etc. I’ve been looking forward to this for so long, and now that the time is edging closer I’ve got a huge case of cold feet.

There are just so many things to be anxious about. So many things left up in the air, so many loose ends that I don’t know how to tie.

What if I struggle to secure full-time work? (I have a job in the media, but it isn’t full-time.)

What if I have to move interstate to find work? (A very real possibility).

What if I struggle in full-time work? What if I’m not good enough, or not ready?

And, most importantly: what the fudge does one wear to a graduation that’s at 11am on a weekday?

They’re all worries that eat away at my anxious lady brain. Worries that are legitimate, that could realistically result in an epic adulthood disaster and me sitting under a bridge somewhere begging for loose change (or, you know, bumming off my parents).

I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, and now I’m really unsure if it’s what I want. These next few months just carry so much ambiguity, and a terribly unsettling murkiness. I’m the type of girl who likes direction, who is daunted by the prospect of not knowing where I will be in a few month’s time. Not being able to picture my life in three months makes my tummy churn.

Don’t get me wrong, when it comes to planning a weekend or a holiday, I adore freedom. But when it comes to my everyday life, my career and where I live? I’m not so laxe. I would love to have the assurance of a set plan. The knowledge that my income and my lifestyle are secure.

I’ve got less than 30 days before I am thrown into the deep end, so I’m going to have to figure it out as I go. It’s literally my only option, to sink or to swim.

There’s no denying it, this next phase of my twenties terrifies me.