Skip to main content

What have I become?

Dear Lord, I am becoming one of those super-keen mature students that my mates and I used to snigger about when we were Undergrads. And since I've only been a student for a day, the prognosis is that I'm probably only going to get more insufferable rather than less.

I've already downloaded the year's reading list onto my Kindle (haven't quite started reading yet, that's tomorrow's goal), been harassing the IT department because of a technical issue with my student portal access (Panic! Panic!), am considering joining the Uni badminton team and have spent a happy few moments in the library. First time round all I cared about was the cost of a pint in the student union bar and how many hot guys there were on my course. How times change...

The thing is that as a mature student you've seen a bit of life, you've probably had at least one career and you know it all kind of sucks unless you grab every good opportunity you're lucky enough to stumble across by the balls. In short, mature students are bloody grateful to get a second shot and are less likely to waste it by getting p*ssed up 24/7 and developing an encyclopedic knowledge of daytime TV. Not that there's anything wrong with that when you're fresh out of your teens... it's possibly an essential developmental stage... But at the grand old age of 38 such behavior would be really rather sad. Right?

For me, going back to college gives me the chance to have a second career in something I choose to do, rather then one I fell into by accident and stayed in after discovering that I was quite good at talking cr*p and could put a positive spin on almost anything so long as it didn't actively offend my moral code (and after 15 years working in public relations, the very definition of moral code becomes a bit of a grey area). Yes, I enjoyed it and I had a blast, appreciated the plentiful freebies and met some brilliant people. But PR is essentially a young person's game and I'm too old and jaded now to get excited at the prospect of finding myself at yet another tail-end of a party in the wee hours, chatting to a minor celebrity about their favorite subject - themselves. Yawn.

Instead, I plan to do something that might possibly be worthwhile and helpful to society in general - by charging non-celebrities to listen to them talking about themselves. But the big difference will be that rather than feeling obliged to kiss their butts in order to secure their business, I plan to help my future clients to find clarity and solutions to the issues that plague them. Good, huh? The very prospect makes me feel kind of warm and fuzzy inside - how lovely to be able to do something useful and with a positive impact on something other than the balance sheet.

Needless to say, my therapist's couch will NOT be open to c'lebs of any kind, major or minor...

Comments

Anonymous said…
Good post! Good luck!
Kate S. said…
Thanks anon :-)
Louise said…
Kate, I admire your enthusiasm. But old habits die hard! Give it a month or so and you'll be arriving late for class, or skipping them, asking for extensions on your assignments and falling asleep in the back row!!!!
Anyway, let me know what nights you are doing, we might be able to grab a a coffee on your way in and on my way out!
Anonymous said…
I think that you will find that your therapist's couch will be open to c'lebs of any kind - so long as they can afford you - because they might have more exciting lives than the rest of us mundane depressives. And we are BORING in spades! You will hear it all - again and again and again...On the other hand, you will find out a lot about yourself, and that can only be interesting.

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…

Champix

Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …