I’ve dragged the couch in front of the window, fetched all the blankets from my bedroom. A fresh cup of tea is within reach and so are my chocolate digestives; I am ready, let the studying commence.
Within ten minutes I find myself reaching for my phone, after I’ve enabled caps lock, I send one important message repeatedly to a random assortment of victims: “I DON’T WANT TO UNI ANYMORE, I WANT SHOTS AND DANCE ON BARS?!?!?”
With my text history now being dominated by a desperate caps locked plea, the truth becomes painfully clear. I have run out of my stash of ‘good girl behaviour’ and am now forced to tap into my ‘rebellious girl’ tank. It’s somewhat of a peculiar barrel, with most of the wild teenage stories being fuelled solely by this particular batch of poison.
Now that I’m heading towards my mid-twenties, I’ve learned that my rebellious self is to be consumed in moderation. She is like a chocolate cake; one piece is never enough. Hence why this semester I’ve hidden her away behind a big wall made out bricks, mortar, cement, wood and more bricks.
Don’t get me wrong, she isn’t constantly up to no good. She expresses herself in a variety of ways, from staying up a little too late just because she shouldn’t, to nicking an unopened bottle of water someone forgot in the library for the thrill of doing something bad. She’s petty and a little childish, but oh so fun.
With the final weeks of semester approaching I know one thing for sure, if someone should stay locked up, it’s my rebellious, adventure craving, tequila-shotting self. I have however made one grave mistake.
By ignoring one part of me I’ve misused another. My inner good girl, the one who drags me into seven-hour library sessions and CV enhancing work placements is exhausted. Her pond of persistent hard work and reliability has run dry and desolate, leaving me with no one but my rebellious self.
Now that I’m forced to find my way through the desert of take home exams, with the help of a rebellious mad woman in search of tequila, I am haunted by my fiends earlier advice
“Take a day off, no one should be working as hard as you are at the moment”, “yes of course you should go to Fubar, I’ll buy you tequila shots”, “You need to find a balance”. And here was good girl me, blurting out “no’s” left and right mumbling on out about resumes and seminars.
This semesters balancing act has taken a tumble, and I have learned a valuable lesson. We might deem certain elements of ourselves to be more valuable or important, but in the end we are only a summary of our parts. All of our parts.
Good girl me might write better essays, but I have bad girl me to thank for moving to Scotland at all. Her rebellious and impulsive ways have brought me some of my favourite memories and people. It is about balance, between the good and the bad, responsibility and impulsivity. And who knows, maybe tequila is a better reference than I could have ever imagined.
