Because 'Apparently I did really well,' isn't quite getting my point across
I'm leaving.
I have a job, in London. It's a Production Assistant traineeship with a magazine company, a fantastic opportunity for someone who's only just realised they want to do something with their degree. It's half an hour away on the tube from the house I'll be sharing with my two best friends, which is beautiful and which we're renting for a pittance. The house is less than five minutes from a 24 hour Tesco, and the work is less than twenty-four minutes from probably five Sam Smiths pubs, which I have developed a pathetic affection for.
My excitement is somewhat muted by my fear that I'm about to wake up.
I feel like writing this ought to be a bigger deal. Certainly it felt that way on my way back into the city, smiling in the unfeasibly beautiful sunshine as the National Express carried me back between the hills I've called home for almost exactly seven years.
It feels right to leave, though. I have extremely mixed feelings about the time I've spent here. Part of me feels that I wasted a lot of it; part of me feels it was simply the time I needed to take. And like everything I've done, whether it actually was a good idea at the time or not isn't relevant any more. I am now, who I am now. And I've got a new path ahead.
I should say that the one thing I have very clear feelings about from my time here is the people I've spent it with. You've all, in some way, contributed to the time I've needed, and to the person I am now. So thank you, for who you are, and for who you'll become, and for what you've meant to me. Saying goodbye to some of you will be saying goodbye to family, however little and however broken you may be.
I wrote something else, but it didn't work. I'll know exactly when I'll be going (and therefore if and when there'll be a shindig) before the end of the week. See you soon. Px
I have a job, in London. It's a Production Assistant traineeship with a magazine company, a fantastic opportunity for someone who's only just realised they want to do something with their degree. It's half an hour away on the tube from the house I'll be sharing with my two best friends, which is beautiful and which we're renting for a pittance. The house is less than five minutes from a 24 hour Tesco, and the work is less than twenty-four minutes from probably five Sam Smiths pubs, which I have developed a pathetic affection for.
My excitement is somewhat muted by my fear that I'm about to wake up.
I feel like writing this ought to be a bigger deal. Certainly it felt that way on my way back into the city, smiling in the unfeasibly beautiful sunshine as the National Express carried me back between the hills I've called home for almost exactly seven years.
It feels right to leave, though. I have extremely mixed feelings about the time I've spent here. Part of me feels that I wasted a lot of it; part of me feels it was simply the time I needed to take. And like everything I've done, whether it actually was a good idea at the time or not isn't relevant any more. I am now, who I am now. And I've got a new path ahead.
I should say that the one thing I have very clear feelings about from my time here is the people I've spent it with. You've all, in some way, contributed to the time I've needed, and to the person I am now. So thank you, for who you are, and for who you'll become, and for what you've meant to me. Saying goodbye to some of you will be saying goodbye to family, however little and however broken you may be.
I wrote something else, but it didn't work. I'll know exactly when I'll be going (and therefore if and when there'll be a shindig) before the end of the week. See you soon. Px