University is seen as the last blow out before a lifetime of working full time and paying taxes. Students are known for constantly getting drunk and partying, and damn the consequences. However, I'm discovering a whole new side that student life is bringing to me. University is making me old.
Okay, my teen years are gradually drawing to a close and now that I don't live with my parents anymore, I naturally have to grow up. But who would of thought, that I would actually care about dust, and polish would be my new best friend? That my flatmates leaving crumbs and spills on the surface would make my blood boil?
I have turned into a prize nagger, frantic post it notes slammed on the offending item, explaining my complete frustration at this act of untidiness! Only for them to be ripped off, minutes later by the flat rebels. Years of cleanliness drummed into me by my mum, taking full effect now shes not here to do it or nag me into submission. Yet my authority has no ground here, there's no blood ties or parental surveillance. My own stubbornness tells me not to do it for them, so as the mess grows, I grow slowly more insane.
When I'm not huffing and puffing over a full sink or crumbs sticking to my bare feet, I'm filling time between lectures. Suddenly getting up in the morning is so much harder, because the call of Phil and Fern is just too tempting. I'm finding myself watching segments on shocking true life stories and fashion advice on This Morning. Then comes the health piece, riddling me with hypochondria.
I have reached middle age prematurely. When I should be living in my own mess, drinking nightly and not giving a damn what I eat, I'm living the opposite. This can only arguably be a good thing; less chance of poisoning myself is a plus. Yet I fear I have already become boring, not that I ever was exciting. Am I set to spend my student days chasing after my messy peers with a dust cloth and antibacterial sprays?
I actually contemplated how I need a feather duster the other day. I need professional help.