I was presented with a daunting notion today. It became apparent that, for unfathomably complex reasons far beyond my grasp (lie #1), I may not be a student again next year. My first thought was a recognition of the familiar feeling of having been kicked in the balls. Second, was "Shit. I suppose it's the real world for me, then."
And what do people do in this infamous "real world" I've heard so much about? Y'know, the one that isn't full of drug-fueled festivals, pretentious and inebriated conversations by candlelight and the greatest sex you can possibly conceive yourself having? Ah, it's work isn't it? Full-time jobs and whatnot.
Much has been said of the infamously monotonous 9-5, some of which I believe to be unfair - and that isn't my point. Although somewhat (lie #2 read: very) lazy and hedonistic - as is my right to be so at such an age, I believe - I'm not work shy. The problem is simple, and it is that I very much liked being a student, and the prospect of being launched into the comparatively dull world of work doesn't appear to be a potentially fulfilling experience. More, mind-numbing and soul-destroying. But still, I digress.
My point is that students are rubbish. Degrees are meaningless, really. Do they add anything to a person's worth? Is somebody better because they have a silly picture of themselves in a foolish hat holding a piece of paper? Society seems to think so, though I imagine most people I know would disagree. (Which perhaps says more about my choice of friends than anything else...) Is it even an achievement? From what I've observed, people with the intellect of a ham & mustard sandwich have managed to scrape the insides of their skulls to piece together the means to get a degree, whereas some of the most talented and wonderful minds realise this as a worthless endeavour and pursue other things. Perhaps in that respect I'm in fairly good company, but here's the dilemma - as much as I despise academia and the prospect of shaking Wendy Purcell's grotesque hand, as well as the potential opportunity to flaunt an apparently meaningful qualification at family events, I really, really, really love being a student. It's brilliant.
When our squat in Plymouth was raided by some bald men in police uniforms a few months ago they questioned the "hypocrisy" of anti-capitalist protest by students. How, I asked them, do they propose we attempt to change a system of government from outside that system of government? It's like asking someone to pop a balloon that's locked in a safe in a room with security guards that search you for sewing needles as you walk in. I remember getting especially indignant at the copper's jeering. These people are responsible for our safety, we are told. They are figures of authority. Yet every single one of them in that building was a ludicrous half-wit. They asked why Africa was so poor, and laughed at the notion that it could possibly be because of an unfair economic system, and a continent still reeling from the effects of colonialism.
What is my point again, exactly? That university is an opportunity to skive, I suppose. To learn too, sure, but not in the way the university necessarily wants you to. There seems to be a pattern emerging in my short and relatively unsuccessful academic life (which I suppose immediately removes me from any position to be handing out anything that resembles advice) - though the whole point is that "success" is an entirely subjective term. I skived high school Biology but I understand evolution. I skipped most of History in favour of smoking dubious substances behind the metaphorical bikesheds (our actual bikesheds were transparent, and far too obnoxiously crafted to be a practical place to commit such juvenile atrocities), but I know about the French revolution. Knowledge isn't something that resides only in the books of institutions like universities, and certainly isn't reserved only for the wealthy. Or for those boring and lifeless enough to submit themselves entirely to a life better suited to a filing cabinet, or a Vogon.
Relax. But not too much.
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