Life After University

So it finally happened: the university experience is over. For the final three frenzied months, physics occupied my thoughts for every waking moment; billions of neurons desperately pumping electrical sparks around my feeble brain as I, with questionable wisdom, tried to cram in an entire degree's worth of knowledge that I had spent four long years not even attempting to learn.

March and April were truly horrid months. So many hours chained to my desk, locked away in solitary confinement. No sun, no fun, just equation after equation after equation bludgeoning me into submission like some cerebral battering ram: I felt like a zombie.

The exams came and went. But when the moment of freedom finally arrived, things felt considerably different to how I had anticipated. No feelings of elation, ecstasy or even relief; in fact, I couldn't really even switch off. Even though I had earned the right to go and utterly obliterate every alcoholic beverage within the M25, I just couldn't enjoy myself. It just didn't seem right that I had nothing to do after such an intense few months.

Three months on, I breath a sigh of relief as I cast my weary eyes upon the three characters that I had spent so much time and money to earn. Four years and £25,000 later, I have achieved the bare minimum that was expected of me and that I will need to get a decent job. It seems that my whole life has been leading towards this moment, following a well-defined path up to this event. Now I possess the key to unlock any door I want, to follow whichever route I so choose. But the problem, it suddenly occurs to me, is that I don't know what I really want.

At last I have the 2:1, but where do I take it from here?