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It’s time we faced the facts – Third Year is a struggle

Dissertation? I don’t know her…


As the last ever term of uni flies by, for third years, it’s time to unite in our panic and finally admit that we’re all a bit of a mess.

Now, it’s time to be honest with ourselves and admit we may have messed up. Just a tad. When we laughed at tutors telling us to start our diss last summer, instead, we really should have taken note. As the deadline looms nearer and nearer and we’re running out of ‘I’ll start it next week’, I think we can all agree that the word regret comes to mind.

Even though we were warned, shock horror, we didn’t listen, and we’re now drowning in so much work that even a reading week won’t fix.

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All aboard the stress-train

And another thing, where did any sense of a social life go?

Being torn between enjoying your last term and passing the year becomes a weekly Friday night struggle. Both Bull and the Library are calling your name and only one can win.

We’ve all experienced the guilt on a Saturday where your only achievement is not throwing back up those vodka red bulls. Moving from your bed to your roommate's bed to discuss all the work neither of you are doing, you promise yourself that that was the last night out for a while.

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Superbull – The best AND worst decision

Now that quack seems like a distant memory and you’re avoiding your diss tutor like the plague, it may be time to acknowledge that our three years are quickly coming to an end.

*Enter the looming fear and denial of life after uni*

As the hope of a potential first drops to an ‘as long as it starts with a 6, I’m good’, it’s hard not to reminisce about first year and how it was just generally a better time.

So let’s pretend its two years ago, we’re in courts, at our friends-roommates-course- friends-neighbour's pres, and we’re off to Union for a night of £2 doubles.

Because let’s face it, that was a hell of a lot better than whatever it is we’re doing now.