The future really freaks me out.
Now I’m one of those people who can’t wait to leave home; the prospect of not just freedom but being able to take control of my life rather than just being an extension of my parents is so so soo exciting. So I’ve established that I want to move out after I finish my A levels. Good. What next?
This is where my ‘plan’ terminates. I don’t think it can even be classed as a plan if I’m honest. More of a step: move out.
I’ve written previously about Cambridge university; I was hoping to apply, genuinely wanting to get a place. And that’s a great aspiration to have … except now it’s not even true anymore. At this point in time, I have no desire to go to Cambridge or oxford.
At the moment, I want to study english. But ask me in a months time, go on. It’s unlikely that my desire to study english will still be there.
The thing that scares me is my complete cluelessness at what I want to do after uni, and my amazing indecision. I can’t even decide what to wear in the morning, how am I supposed to plan my future. I’m too young for this.
I feel as though I’m bluffing my way through my A levels. My courses are an odd mix, and they really don’t compliment each other, I always seem to have a mountain of work overdue and I’m yet to experience being drunk or going to parties.
In a way, I feel as though I’m so eager to move out that I haven’t considered what it’ll actually be like. I mean, what if I completely flop in the first week?
It scares me so much that my whole future is entirely dependent on 3 grades. I’m really dreading those final few months – I have high expectations of myself, and I know I’ll put myself under stupid amounts of pressure.
‘Then her soul sat on her lips, and languid flowered.’ – Charlotte Brontë, from Jane Eyre