A Day in the Life: Dissertation Dejection Mode

As the dissertation deadline looms ever-closer and people insist on saying things like "this is what you've spent your whole life working towards" (no pressure), I thought I'd try out something a little different to give you an insight into what an average day is like for me right now. It will mean carrying my laptop around with me (if I bother to leave the confines of my room/ bed), but it's worth it to accurately record all of the mundane details of a student's life when they're in dissertation dejection mode.

10:41am

Not only am I awake, but I've been out of the house already. I had an appointment with the chiropractor at 9:40am, convincing that if I had an early appointment I would have all day long to spend at the library. Unfortunately, all I have done is get back into bed. 

  My back hurts (hopefully in a 'don't worry, it's just healing' kind of way), but my neck feels great. At the end of the session I asked if he wouldn't mind, "doing that thing where you make my neck go all clicky," to which he looked at me and laughed. Apparently I'm one of the only patients he's ever has who has requested to have their neck manually contorted until it cracks. I can't see why. Personally, I love the feeling and the sound. 

On the way home I found out my 3pm lecture has been cancelled, which is going to make forcing myself up onto campus even harder than it was already going to be. I wouldn't have a problem with heading up there right now, but every day last week I spent at least 20 minutes of my time wandering from floor to floor of the library, searching for a seat. Side note - University of Exeter, I appreciate you spending £50 million on the new forum, but I would appreciate it more if you'd trade in the electronic touch screen maps no one has ever used and the overpriced coffee shop (how many does one campus need?) and just put in more places where people can, you know, do work.

When deadlines start inching closer, everything else seems to go out the window. So right now my room is full of empty bowls that once contained My Little Pony pasta shapes, I only have one pair of clean knickers left in the draw, and I didn't even have it in me to apply bronzer this morning. 

All the essentials for work. Pencil case, notebook, jar of honey, magnifying mirror...

12.35pm

Another short story and five more articles done and dusted. Now it's officially nap time.

5:42pm

Time flies when you're forcing your way through a novel about a talking monkey who is driven to crime by his despair at mankind. I can't believe how late it is already. I swear I only napped for an hour so I can't understand where the day has gone.
I made it onto campus, mostly because I knew the campus shop had Milkybar mini eggs in the Easter display and they have now become my go-to dissertation snack. I do not need the extra calories, but they are my new weakness in life and they make the endless hours of research more bearable.
  I can't say that anything particularly interesting has happened this afternoon. On my way here I passed a man talking to his dog. Not the normal "sit," "stay," "for goodness sake get out of that puddle and spit out that mouse" kind of talking. He was having an in-depth, one sided conversation. The dog didn't strike me as a particularly good listener. If anything, he was a little too self-obsessed.
  And now I have to force myself out into the cold to go and sign up for a meeting with my lecturer tomorrow. Ok. Movement. I can do this...

7:30pm

Still sat at the desk in the library. Still reading about talking monkeys. Slowly losing the will to live.
I went to the shop to get something else to eat and it seemed that everywhere I turned first years were talking about their plans for this evening. It's been so long since I've been out on a week night that I can't even remember which of Exeter's four useless clubs is the place to be on a Monday. Stop talking about your amazing, pre-dissertation lives!
  I temporarily made myself feel better by thinking that in eight weeks I'll be done with university work and they'll have another two years to go. But then I realised that graduation is just the start of a whole new series of problems. I'll be living at home with no student loan, trying to find a job, waking up early and being all responsible and those annoyingly chirpy first years will still have another year and a half of carefree student life ahead (and then that six months of dissertation dejection mode, of course).

8:01pm

Library time is over and I'm ready to head home. I just hope it isn't raining. Things are bad enough walking home in the dark through that woodland path. By day it's beautiful and tranquil, a relaxing way to stroll to campus and spot the last of the robins, fluttering from branch to branch amongst the early morning dew. By night it is a terrifying death path where there must be ghosts lurking in the bushes and demons hiding at every curve in the path.
So yeah. Wish me luck!

8:36pm

It was raining. Of course it was.

I seem to be spending the majority of my time researching the southern belle for my dissertation and all I have to show for it so far is this:

9:33pm

I just finished the Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred and I am a very attractive shade of beetroot right now. I'm proud that after a day of work I still managed to drag myself upstairs to do squats and jumping jacks. Who have I become?
  Before that I had a quick read through The Week Magazine, which I got sent this week to review. I do honestly try to be cultured and knowledgeable, but when I have a spare 10 minutes before class in the morning and I have a choice to either scroll through my BBC news app or my Facebook app, Facebook just always wins out. And we don't have a tv so I feel well and truly cut off from the rest of the planet. Martians could invade and I'm not sure how long it would take for me to find out now that I don't watch the news while I'm eating my cereal in the morning.
  So I was excited to take a look through The Week and find out what was happening in the world. My first thought when I opened it was, "There aren't very many pictures." Yes, I'm aware that I'm a twenty two year old English Literature student who reads Dickens and Austen in my free time so I have no idea where that came from, but it was instantly followed by a sense of deep shame. Clearly I've been reading too much Cosmo.
  Anyway, I like it. I like the way it's broken down into little bite sized pieces. They give you just the right amount of information on a wide range of topics from all over the world. I've never been able to read a traditional newspaper (despite the abundance of pictures), but this was short and snappy so I didn't feel like I was trudging through it. I feel less ignorant having read it and I'm very tempted to start up a subscription. Just in case Martians invade or something. And they didn't even pay me to say that!

10:11pm

Ok brain, bring on the insomnia! I haven't been able to sleep properly for about two weeks (the joys of a heavy workload). I've tried Nytol (which taste like a gone off plant), long relaxing baths, hypnosis apps on my phone, but my brain seems to perk up considerably around the 9pm mark and, no matter how early I wake up and how many naps I deny myself, it'll still be buzzing at 2am.

11:27

Oh no, I just found out that Jillian Michaels has a cheesy American weight loss show. Now I have to watch every episode I can find.

So there you have it. This is what my typical day looks like at the moment. Mundane, messy, and full of diverse forms of procrastination, such as writing this right now. And when my dissertation finally gets handed in, I'm going to party hard! That's a total lie. I'm going to sleep for a week. 

"What goes with pyjama bottoms?" "Shame!"

Five minutes ago there was a knock on my bedroom door. I crawled to the door on my hands and knees (naturally). It was my housemate, Iona.
"I just read your blog from start to finish and I really like it. I think you should write another post soon."
I was both touched by her compliment and impressed by her procrastination skills.
"Thanks," (still on my knees) "I want to write one, but I've just been so boring lately doing my dissertation. I don't know what I'd write about."
When she left and I crawled back to my pilates (which was my own form of procrastination and the reason I was crawling around the room), I realised that, in fact, my weekend had been far from boring and now is the perfect opportunity to write my next blog post...and procrastinate by doing so.

What started out as dinner with Kirsty and her parents on Friday night ended with me walking home through puddles with no shoes on at 2am with Sophie and Jess. I have a knack for spreading the evening out.

It was Emma, from Wasting Tuition Fees', birthday. I only realised when I was on my way out the door to go to dinner, but I'm not one to pass up an opportunity for a cocktail or seven so, after stuffing my face with the world's best chicken in mushroom sauce, I headed over to Monkey Suit, which is one of my favourite places in Exeter because they know exactly how to make a strawberry daiquiri, a skill which is often overlooked in life.

I told Sophie and Jess I'd meet them there so I was alone when I got to the entrance.
"Are you just coming in for a drink?" Asked the bouncer.
"No...I'm going to a party."
"Whose party?"
"Emma's"
"And how old is Emma?"
I stopped and stared blankly, partly because this interrogation seemed somewhat unnecessary and partly because at that moment, I couldn't even remember how old I was.
"22. No. 21. 22. Wait. No. I'm 22. So she must be...I'm just so confused."
But my confusion was obviously believable because in I went.

By the time Sophie and Jess got there I was three cocktails better off and already had a wristband for queue jump at Timepiece, despite the fact that it was originally going to be a 'just one drink and then home so I can get up for the library tomorrow' affair. Fast-forward to us heading home in the early hours with me carrying my shoes, something that simply does not occur in my life. I once kept my shoes on all night despite the fact that my feet were bleeding and yet here I was splashing through the puddles, high heels in hand, like some kind of shoe-novice.

"I feel no shame."

But, as much fun as we had that night, it was the next day that inspired me to write this post. Having point blank refused to leave my bed all morning, I assumed the others had made it to the library. Imagine my surprise when Sophie popped up on Facebook chat.
"Have you got any self raising flour? I need cookies."
What a genius idea! Cookies were exactly what we needed. And so I made the most productive move of the day thus far and moved from my bed to Sophie's bed.

So Sophie, Jess and I sat on Sophie's bed, each at various levels of exhaustion and all still wearing our pjs and last night's eyeliner. It was a serious issue, trying to decide what treats we needed. We could make cookies, but we had no chocolate chips. We could make cake, but deep down we all wanted cookies. There was ice cream, but no brownies. The odds were seriously stacked up against us.

At last there was no alternative, but to head to Londis in our pjs, hair unkempt, eyes bloodshot, faces unmade. There was a bizarre moment before we left when Sophie couldn't decide which shoes to wear.
"We're in pyjamas. I don't even have a bra on. I don't think it matter which shoes you wear."
"It's just...what goes with pyjama bottoms?"
"...Shame."
We simply needed chocolate chips. And it was worth wandering the streets in my Mickey Mouse pyjama bottoms to stuff my face with cookies...and cookie dough....and ice cream...and Dorritos. Because sometimes, when you simply can't face another day of reading about the antebellum South, the only thing to do is to lie in bed and eat and week's worth of calories.

I feel no shame. It was amazing.

The Not So Fabulous Student Life

I've been back in Exter for less than a week and already student life has become the norm again. It's amazing how quickly you forget about the existence of ironed clothes, general warmth, and a kitchen floor that isn't so sticky it pulls the socks off your feet. And now that the winds outside are up to 100mph and something as simple as the walk to campus has become a nightmare in its own right, I've begun to realise just how un-glamorous student life can be.

1. Student Housing.
When I was in first year I lived in brand new student accommodation that, while luxurious compared with some of the rooms I've seen at the likes of Swansea and Cardiff, was in no way worth the £123 a week I paid to live there. But it was warm and comfortable. Yes, our cleaner used to spend her shift sat at our dining room table, eating our biscuits and insulting us if we walked in instead of actually doing any kind of cleaning, but that was as bad as it got.
When I left campus I entered the world of deposit-snatching landlords, 'house' snails, broadband scams, arguments about when it's acceptable to turn the heat up (apparently, in some cases, only when you can literally see your own breath) and various other student housing delights.
Last year my room had no window. It led onto a badly constructed extension that clearly wasn't up to any kind of building code. It let in the rain and there were weeds growing in it. There was no natural daylight in the room itself...or air.

This year our house is a great improvement. It's bigger, the housemate to bathroom ratio is fantastic, my room has two whole windows and space for my clothes in the cupboard. But we have damp. And, as this seemingly never-ending downpour continues, it's not getting any better. When I got back last week and opened my wardrobe, my shoes had grown a layer of mould. I had to scrape a living entity off my favourite red Mary Janes. The estate agent did not understand my despair.


2. A Ridiculous Life.
It would be a lie to say that ridiculous things only happen to me in Exeter. If you read about my trip to Europe last summer then you will be well aware that it makes no difference where in the world I am. I just attract stupid scenarios. But living at university offers up a whole new realm of possibilities for me to get myself into trouble.

The first time I ever went to the uni
library I was drunk...and wearing
hotpants.

On the weekend I popped across the road to the corner shop. It's conveniently placed right opposite our house, next to the Thai 'Massage Parlour' (which isn't fooling anyone, by the way). I left the door on the latch, only to find when I got back that I'd been locked out. Our doorbell was broken. I banged the door until I thought I might inadvertently punch right through it but, as is one of the fun novelties of student living, someone had music on and no one heard.
It was cold and wet. I had nothing to hand but my purse and a tin of chopped tomatoes. My very will to live was fast slipping from me at the point. I pushed past the shrubs to get around to the side of the house. The gate was locked.
So I scaled the pointed fence. It's a good two feet taller than me and my cowboy boots were of no use in trying to get a decent foothold. Halfway over, shivering, hair frizzy, butt in the air, a man walked up the lane next to the house.
"Just...trying to get back into my house."
He looked in no way surprised to see me crawling my way across a seven foot wall. Has living in such close proximity to students made Exeter residents immune to this kind of thing or do I just give off the vibe that this kind of thing is part of my day to day life?


3. Grunge, Grime, and Tiny Nervous Breakdowns.

In first year we brought a random
cat into our kitchen.

Student houses are disgusting because, generally speaking, students are disgusting. That's why landlords turn the other way when there are indoor snails, indoor weeds, and indoor mould (even when it's on my shoes). Forget dissertations and presentations, the biggest stress in a student's life is usually the kitchen and the fear of what kind of diseases may be lurking there.
Since I first lived in my comfy little flat, kitchens have been a nightmare. Back then it was the guy who would leave his saucepans unwashed for so long he had to throw them out. Now it's the nightmare of having six people share a teeny tiny kitchen...and leaving their stuff unwashed for so long that they maybe should consider throwing it out.
I've gotten into a great habit of washing, drying and putting away my dishes as soon as I'm done with them, mostly because I don't like the idea of them touching the surfaces. In fact, my parents were pleasantly surprised when I went home last week and did the dishes in an almost paranoid way. Yes, dirty kitchens are annoying, but I had no idea how much it irritated me until the other night when my subconscious decided to join the party...in a big way.
It was a normal, quiet evening. I was a normal, quiet human being. Kirsty and I were in the kitchen and I was just washing up a mug.
"The kitchen looks so much better, doesn't it?" Said Kirsty. "I've noticed it doesn't stress you out so much anymore."
"No," I said (still a normal, quiet human being). "I just let it all go over my head now. I try not to think about it too much. But," (still normal and quiet) "one thing that does annoy me is this whole draining board thing. We never have any dry tea towels and then, when we do, people use them to create a second draining board." (This is where normal and quiet started to ebb away). "I mean, we don't need two draining boards. We don't even technically need the one if people would just dry their dishes, but they seem to insist on using it as some kind of communal storage unit! And then, when this storage unit, which isn't even meant to be a storage unit, is full, they make another one instead of emptying the first?! And how do they do that? They use the only dry tea towel in the house so that even if anyone actually did want to dry their dishes, they couldn't! But clearly no one does anyway because otherwise we wouldn't need two draining boards for them to store all their crap on!! But maybe I DO want to dry my dishes and now I can't because of this stupid second draining board thing!"
Normal and quiet had well and truly left the building. Kirsty just stared at me.
"But, yeah...apart from that I think I've really chilled out about the whole kitchen thing..."
Kirsty quickly removed all of her kitchenware from the draining board.


So those are just a couple of examples from the last week I thought would highlight some of the more...challenging aspects of student living. As well as these there's the mountain of Dominoes boxes, the battle of who will take out the bins, library fines, attempting to navigate the amory building (you will not understand the horror until you've tried), student loans not covering the high price of alcohol in Exeter, Student Finance Wales in general, MLA citations, the way Arena smells like feet...oh good grief, I'm having another 'draining board moment'.

But, despite the grim realities of student life, we are some of the few people who can drink midweek without being judged, lay in bed until 2pm, leave the house in whatever happens to be clean and pretend we're being 'hipster' and generally enjoy all the perks of independent living without the drag of having a job. And, most importantly, at the end of term you always get to return to your parents house, where it's dry and clean and the wall is only 2 foot tall if you ever need to scale it.

I'm Sorry! I Just...Ended up in Wales Somehow.

First things first, I apologize for disappearing off the face of the virtual earth for the past few weeks. I'll blame a combination of my latest trip to Germany, having no internet in my bedroom and not feeling inclined to walk all the way down to the living room, and a completely unexpected turn of events that meant I ended up back in Wales this week.

I left the Beacon's house at 3pm German time last Sunday. I was prepared for the usual 10 or more hours of travelling and the hassle that is navigating Schiphol Airport. But then I remembered that due to recent 'adverse weather conditions' my train to Exeter wouldn't be running. My plane would land at 9pm and the next bus was at 2am and no amount of free KLM wine could make that prospect any less daunting. So when I landed in Bristol and found my Dad waiting to take me back to Port Talbot, for the first time ever I was grateful that my mother is so paranoid about me doing anything after sundown. Suddenly the fact that she says things like, "take extra care and make sure you have your rape alarm" when I walk home from campus at 6pm in winter was overshadowed by fact that I wouldn't be travelling through the apocalyptic Devon weather on a bus until 4:30am. Within an hour and a half I was warm, comfy, and wearing my amazing Mickey Mouse pjs.

Determined not to step outside the house into the whirling chaos of gale force winds and bone-chilling rain (why put my hair through such an ordeal unless it's absolutely necessary?), I decided to put my time to good use and get some work done. So naturally I constructed a cave in my parent's living room and watched Gone with the Wind. There was only another 40 minutes or so left until Scarlet finally realises Ashley Wilkes isn't all that, even if he does have a completely unnecessary British accent, when the storm cut off our power. After some deliberation about how my mother would react to us using her 'display candles', my father and I drank Jack Daniels in the dark. I did not leave my cave.

Picture from the BBC website to show
 I'm not being melodramatic.

A quick summary for my readers from outside the UK, we are currently experiencing mass flooding and 80mph winds. And will continue to do so until at least the end of the month according to the weather people. They've issued an Amber Warning, although I can't say with any certainty that anyone knows what that actually means. But it is wet and cold. Even by British standards. We're talking evacuations and train tracks in the sea.

That said, I was in no way discouraged from heading into Swansea with Ellis, Lauren, and my mother for a trip to TGI Fridays. That is the kind of necessity I am willing to risk my hair for. Lauren, now 4 years old, asked me for relationship advice. It seems her boyfriend won't play with her in the yard at lunchtime any more. I briefly outlined the 'men are like elastic bands' theory, but she couldn't quite grasp it. So I distracted her with a colouring book.

And now I'm back in Exeter with a cold, a full laundry basket, mould growing on my wall, and absolutely no inclination to get out of bed and face those 'high risk' winds. Maybe it's time to make a new cave...