In ten days, I will be your Master.

Okay, maybe not YOUR master – but A Master. A Master of Arts in Journalism, that is.

Six Weeks ago, I was certain that on this day I would be straight thrilled with life.

I’m nearly finished my term work (only one major article and a few small assignments left to crank out!), the winter weather is well on it’s way to Australia (suckers) and our big J-School semi-formal is this Thursday night.

As Ms. VP of Communications, it was my job to make a poster promoting said night of pure awesome, so I did last night, whilst watching How I met your mother and cruising the internet for funny stuff job postings.

The dead dog is an inside joke, btw. I’m not that deranged.

My feelings about the end of the semester are mixed, to say the least.

I mean, I want to graduate. I need to start working and making money so that I can get an apartment of my own (sans roommates – for the love of Buddah! I’m done!), a legitimate coffee maker, a bed that isn’t a futon… maybe even adopt myself a little dog – or at the very least, a nice houseplant.

The thing is, I’m a wee bit frightened by the prospect of finishing University. I’ve been going to school since I was 3 years old. It’s what I’m comfortable with – what I know and love.

Maybe that’s why the idea of getting a PhD has appealed to me so much lately?

Four more years ensconced within the warm, stimulating confines of academia, the promise of a cushy career filled with research, writing and teaching teaching to look forward to, a big office filled with books, some of which may even have my name on the cover, GLAVIN!!!

Maybe someday…

Right now, I really do think the best thing for me is to get out into the real world and start working. I’m up for the challenge!

A big part of me is just chomping at the bit to make my mark in the wild world of journalism (or whatever industry I end up falling into).

Still – it’s scary.

People keep asking me what I’ll be doing when I graduate…

“Got a job lined up yet?”
“How much have you been offered?”
“When do you leave London?”
“Where will you be living for the summer?”
“What’s your five year plan, deary?”
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“Can I have your credit card, social insurance number and bra size please?”

It’s seriously suffocating.

I don’t have the slightest idea of where I’ll even be living a month from now! I leave the city of London on April 30th and then it’s off to… Toronto? Chatham? Windsor? San Diego? Guelph? Hong Kong?

I hope it’s Hong Kong. (that’s a lie. I hate chinese food.)

But it’s not what city I’ll be living in that’s stressing me out the most, it’s what I’ll be doing in that city.

I’ve had opportunities come up within a variety of fields – Reporting, marketing, PR, advertising, teaching, gangsta rapping…

How do you decide what you want to do for the rest of your life (or at least the next little while) when you want to do everything at once?

I’m just waiting to find out about the AXE gig so that I can at least make a move in one direction or the other.

Not much of a point in moving to Los Angeles in May if I find out that I’ll have a free place in Toronto come June, right?

Oh gosh… I really, really, hope I’ll have that place in Toronto come June, and the sweet, sweet summer job that comes along with it. Then, in September, maybe I’ll fulfill my life long dream of landing a job as a reporter likeNews Anchor Barbie (who just so happens to be released the year I’m graduating from Journalism School. A sign?)

She’s almost as cool as nerd computer engineer Barbie.

Btw – anybody else notice that the binary code on her pink laptop (#covet!) spell’s “Barbie”? Clever, clever!

I think that Computer Engineer Barbie needs to give her netbook (I am classifying it as such because its display is definitely less than ten inches) to Reporter Barbie so she can develop the crucial multimedia reporting skills that will allow her to succeed in today’s multi-platform news gathering environment!

Give her your sweet binary tee and hot pink kicks too while you’re at it, Nerdlinger.

Actually… maybe reporter Barbie should just give her mic to Poindexter Barbie and go return that little pink teddy she’s wearing to La Senza for some real clothes. Like, wtf Mattel?

I love pink more than Paris Hilton and Regina George combined and I still wouldn’t wear that to work. You’d be hard pressed to find a legit journalist who would (except maybe on Halloween. Actually, that’d be kind of cute, eh?)

Disjointed blog post? Maybe.

Weak conclusion? Yup.

Nightnight!

Love,

Blogster Barbie.