My course at Melbourne Uni started at the beginning of March, four weeks ago.
I’d been looking forward to it, but at the same time felt enormously uncertain. About whether I could find the self-discipline to make a go of it. About whether it was really what I wanted to be doing. And uncertain about how, given how much of my time and energy was already consumed with simply coping (after a fashion), I would manage the workload.
I wondered whether I was just kidding myself in imagining that it was a realistic thing to attempt at my present juncture.
I enjoyed the furniture of it all. Buying stationary, going to lectures. Being a Student. But my fears were well-founded; by the end of Week 3 was falling behind and starting to panic. By the middle of Week 4, I was becoming a nervous wreck.
I decided, after some soul-searching, to withdraw, or at least defer until next year.
It felt surprisingly good.